A Very Castafiore Christmas
by blue.totoro
Summary: COMPLETED! R&R! A winter without snow at Marlinspike is made even worse when Bianca Castafiore announces her plans to stay at the mansion! Cue tons of humor and a very annoyed Captain Haddock.
1. The News

**A Very Castafiore Christmas**

**Author's Note: **Here's the first chapter of my new holiday story, A Very Castafiore Christmas. It's going to be great. :) Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I don't own Tintin.

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**Chapter 1**

It was a frozen winter day. Icy gusts of cold wind sprang up from the north and sent a December chill through the world. Villagers in the nearby towns surrounding the Marlinspike estate rushed to the department stores to stock up on fire logs, Christmas trees, and fir garlands for their front doors. Even though there wasn't any snow yet, everybody expected the first snowflakes to fall in a few days; until then, they were content to enjoy the holiday festivities and wait for Christmas.

"No snow," grumbled Captain Haddock, staring miserably out the window that faced Marlinspike's long front drive. "How are we supposed to celebrate Christmas without any snow?"

Although Captain Haddock had never been an overly festive person, and was never one to pay very much attention to holidays and the like, Christmas was one celebration that he never missed. He loved to watch the leaves turn from green to red to gold and finally drop from the trees; he loved the changing weather of winter, the icy coldness outside that stung your cheeks. He loved the fresh blanket of white snow that covered the ground and laced the trees with glittering crystal. He loved how Marlinspike looked with fir garlands over its French doors and marble archways, and he loved the sound of vintage Christmas music coming from the radio in the kitchen. Although he'd never admit it to Tintin, or anyone else, he loved Christmas.

But right now, with only four days to Christmas and no snow to be seen, he was getting very annoyed. He sat and stared blankly out of the paned window, wishing desperately for snow. Several times he was convinced that he saw a snowflake drift lazily from the sky, but it always turned out to be a false alarm.

_Maybe I should just get used to it_, he wondered. _After all, I haven't had very good luck lately, have I?_

He hadn't. Earlier in the year, Tintin had dropped him from a sun chair in the back garden as a practical joke, and he'd fallen and twisted a bone in his hand on the impact. He'd eaten a cake from a neighbor while in the hospital and almost dropped dead of food poisoning. And while he was recovering from the injury and the food poisoning, Bianca Castafiore (herself!) had decided to pay a "nice little visit", staying for an entire week straight and subjecting him to endless scales and opera arias, sung at an inhumanly high pitch.

_At least Castafiore's gone. _He brightened at the thought. _Hopefully we won't see any more of that woman for a while._

The sound of tiny footsteps padding up from behind the Captain alerted him to Snowy's presence. He turned around from his overstuffed armchair and looked pointedly towards the dog, which was wagging its white tail excitedly, its whole body vibrating with anticipation. Snowy woofed twice happily, then after eliciting no reaction from the Captain, lay down on the marble floor and made whining noises. He knew this game well: It was called _Play With Me Or Else_: an annoying tactic that Snowy often employed to get attention from the Captain when Tintin was gone.

"Tintin's not here," Haddock explained, fixing the terrier with what he hoped was an understanding look. "He's not here. Tintin went shopping. Now go and do something else."

Snowy remained where he was on the floor, panting and lolling his tongue forward.

Haddock half-heartedly aimed a foot at the dog, which quickly scrambled to his feet and scampered off, barking excitedly.

_Well, that's taken care of that!_

Relieved to have Snowy gone, he looked back to the window. It was then that he noticed the motorcycle and its ginger-haired passenger, speeding down the front drive towards the house. _Tintin! _Moments later, Tintin burst through the front doors, cheeks flushed, his quiff flattened slightly by the motorcycle helmet.

"Hello, Captain," he said brightly, starting to remove his coat. "I went down to the Christmas market and bought some porcelain houses for the snow village. Nestor is bringing it inside through the receiving room." The coat removed, he walked towards the living room, where Haddock's armchair, and its occupant, sat.

Captain Haddock glanced at Tintin. "Did you have a good time?" he asked, disinterestedly, and looked back through the window, noticing the dark figure of Nestor opening the motorcycle trunk.

"It was wonderful," replied Tintin breathlessly, plopping into a sofa near the fireplace. "You have to come with me sometime. Even though it's only…" He looked at his watch quickly. "Even though it's only 10:30 in the morning, they had all of the lights up and everything. Oh, and you really should have tasted the food! Fresh waffles, kugelhopf, nutmeg-and-ginger cookies, chocolate trees, tarte au fromage, everything you can imagine. I sampled pretty much everything."

Then he noticed the Captain, or rather, the Captain's bad mood. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

Haddock looked at Tintin. In a way, he wished that he hadn't been in a bad mood. Tintin looked so happy and innocent there on the couch, that Haddock hated to spoil his friend's excitement. Quickly, he pasted a smile on his face. "I'm fine, just a bit bored perhaps."

"Do you want to go and check the mail for today?" Tintin suggested. "The fresh air would work wonders, Captain."

"Doesn't Nestor do that?" the Captain replied, confused.

Tintin laughed, springing from the couch and walking towards the coatrack. Before he disappeared through the doorway to the foyer, he turned around and looked back at Haddock. "Come on, Captain. You'll enjoy it!"

He was about to refuse, when he realized that he really did want to go outside. Even if there wasn't any snow, he might as well…

"Wait, I'm coming!" he called out, as Tintin opened the front doors and stepped outside.

/

Their thick winter boots crunched against the gravel as they walked down Marlinspike's front drive, and as Captain Haddock looked out over the bleak, ruggedly beautiful landscape, he was glad that he'd decided to come with Tintin. He didn't spend enough time with that boy, anyway.

Everything was cold and still, and the sky was gray. Even though they were heavily bundled in fur coats and scarves, the icy wind nipped at their cheeks as they walked, side by side, down the long winding road past the front gate.

"I love winter," said Tintin suddenly, with a note of exhilaration in his voice. "I don't like it as much as spring or summer, but all the same…"

"It's all right," replied Haddock gruffly, and immediately wishing he had said more. Winter _was _his favorite time of year, after all. "I like the snow and everything."

"Yeah, the snow is nice."

"And ice. And frost," the Captain said thoughtfully. Then, he remembered why he was upset. "But no snow," he added, an annoyed tone in his voice.

Tintin laughed. "That's fine by me. Besides, it will snow before Christmas. Wait and see."

Everybody seemed to have that mindset, Haddock noted. "How can you be so sure? What if it doesn't?"

Tintin rounded a bend in the gravel path. "Then it doesn't. By the way, have you heard from our friend Castafiore recently?"

"Castafiore?" Haddock replied, dumbfounded. "Why on earth would I hear from her?"

"No reason. I was just wondering, I suppose."

"Well, you'll be happy to know that we haven't heard a single word from that subtropical sea-louse," the Captain replied, with feeling. "Or that Mozart-plunking pianist of hers!"

"Goodness, Captain! She can't be all that bad!" Tintin laughed.

"Hmm… well…" grumbled Haddock.

"Here we are!" Tintin exclaimed, as they rounded a bend, and the mailbox came into view.

"I doubt we'll have much mail, anyway," called Haddock, struggling to keep up with Tintin.

"I suppose not…" said Tintin, only half listening. He opened the mailbox and began sorting through its contents.

Suddenly, his eyes grew wide and his mouth opened slightly, as if he was on the verge of saying something.

"What is it?" the Captain asked nervously.

"You won't believe this, Captain! You really won't believe it!" Tintin burst out excitedly. "And to think that we were just talking about her!"

"No," Haddock breathed. He realized he knew all too well who the letter was from. And he knew he probably wouldn't like what it was about to say.

In an instant, everything in Captain Haddock's world began to go south.

* * *

**Author's Note**: MWAHAHAHA! I'm so evil, doing this to the Captain. More chapters soon! Are you excited?

As always,** review** if you liked it!


	2. A Healthy Dose of Fertilizer

**Author's Note:** Here's chapter 2. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_My dear friends Tintin and Captain Haddock,_

_May I have the pleasure of – how shall I say? – inviting myself to your little country cottage for the holidays? Alas, I hate to abandon my adoring fans in New York, Paris, and Milan, but even an opera star has to get away every once in a while! As you can understand, I immediately thought of you. The fresh country air and… rustic atmosphere, I am sure, will do me good. I plan to arrive on the twenty-second of December._

_I look forward to the immense pleasure of meeting the two of you (and dear, dear Cuthbert Calculus) very soon, in person!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Bianca Castafiore_

Captain Haddock read the letter over and over again, still desperately willing its contents not to be true. _Why me? _He wondered. _Why does all of this have to happen to me?_ As if a completely snow-less Christmas wasn't bad enough, now that- that woman was invading their house and their privacy! It was an outrage: a complete and utter outrage.

Standing up from his position at the dining room table, he walked over to Tintin, who was reading a book on the sofa. _Reading a book? How can he read a book when that Antediluvian bulldozer was about to invade their house? _

"Blistering barnacles, Tintin, how can you stand it?" he exclaimed, plopping down wearily in the couch opposite Tintin.

Tintin calmly flipped the page of his book, dog-eared it, and placed it neatly on an end table. "It's not that bad, Captain! In fact, I'm rather looking forward to meeting our old friend. It'll be a nice way to celebrate the holidays, don't you think?"

"A… a nice way to celebrate the holidays?" repeated Haddock, stunned. "Nice? More like torture, I'd say! With that horrible accompanist of hers, and that annoying, sniveling maid? Singing- no, screaming our ears off for days?" Then he thought of something. "Speaking of which, how long is she staying?"

"I don't know. A week, perhaps."

"Well- when will she be here? Didn't she say in the letter?"

"She said. The twenty-second of December, apparently."

Captain Haddock felt his face go white. "The… twenty-second… but- that's today!" he spluttered.

Tintin laughed. "It's eerily like her last visit, isn't it? No, I mean the one before that. With the emerald."

"I'll say! And just as unwelcome, too!"

"That was an adventure I'll never forget," recalled Tintin fondly. "I'll admit, the film crews and such were in our way sometimes, but… it was fun. Actually, I'm rather looking forward to this visit," he added with a smile.

Captain Haddock rolled his eyes.

/

He found Calculus in the greenhouse, an attractive glass structure tucked away behind Marlinspike's main compound.

_Blistering barnacles, I know it's only Calculus, but I have to talk to somebody about this!_

As he opened the glass-paneled doors, a burst of warm, moist steam covered his face and body. It felt like a tropical jungle. He made his way past drooping green arboreas and birds of paradise, heavy orange and pink blossoms just beginning to open. It felt strange, being so hot in the middle of December. Huge ventilation fans loomed overhead, whirring loudly.

Tugging at his woolen sweater and feeling pinpricks of sweat on the back of his neck, the Captain scanned the inside of the greenhouse for Calculus. _Probably in one of the other sections_, he decided, noting that the greenhouse expanded in several directions, each one with a particular climate for growing different plants.

As he made his way through the endless rows of moist green trees and brightly colored flowers, he was pleased to notice that Calculus was doing a good job maintaining the place. When Calculus had come to Haddock with requests for money to build new wings to the small greenhouse several years ago, he'd given it without hesitation. But until now, he hadn't bothered to see what was inside. Everything lush and green, earthen flowerpots in neat rows along the floor. Sprinklers and hoses overhead for watering. In the summer, Calculus brought teams of gardeners and landscapers to Marlinspike, and they'd all go and design that year's garden, emptying the greenhouse. It really was beautiful when they were done. Formal gardens, natural gardens, and circles of neatly raked gravel around fountains… it was more like a botanic garden than a private residence. And since money wasn't an object for the Captain, he'd given Calculus a lot of freedom with gardening.

It was strange, really, how little time he'd spent here in this greenhouse. It would be a nice place to relax in a lounge chair and sip a cold Loch Lomond. With the newspaper, perhaps, or a book. _I really should do it sometime. But not now, of course, when Castafiore's on her way._

He located a door and pushed through it. Fortunately, he had come to the right section of the greenhouse. This one was filled with Cuthbert Calculus' passion: roses. Red roses, green roses, yellow roses, pink roses. He found Calculus in the middle of the room, bent over a large potted white rose, brandishing a pair of silver pruning shears.

"Cuthbert!" he called. "You'll never believe who's about to arrive!" Spotting a rag on a nearby table, he picked it up and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. He noticed it was slightly wet and tasted bitter, but he wasn't unduly concerned. It was probably dirty water.

Calculus looked up, and seeing Haddock, dropped the pruning shears. "My dear Captain!" he exclaimed. "How wonderful of you to come!" He stepped forward and shook the Captain's hand jovially. "As you can see, I'm just pruning the roses. Won't you come in?"

Haddock wasn't particularly surprised that Calculus was pruning the roses: after all, he seemed to live in the greenhouse ninety percent of the time taking care of those plants- when he wasn't eating or sleeping, of course. But that conversation could wait; right now, he was too distracted by the latest turn of events to bother. "Have you heard the news?" he asked.

Calculus removed his spectacles and started pulling off his gardening gloves. "Enthused, you say? About the roses?" He smiled indulgently at Haddock. "That's wonderful of you, Captain! Except the roses aren't for you. They're a new variety I developed. I named them in honor _not_ of Bianca Castafiore; although she _is_ a charming lady and a talented artist, they're not for her. These roses are named in honor of your dog Snowy! I'm calling them 'Milou'. How do you like it?"

"Well, that's exactly who I came in to talk about," Haddock explained, and then caught himself. "No, not Snowy. I came to talk to you about Castafiore! Did you hear-"

"Yes, I heard," replied Calculus calmly, pulling the gloves back on.

The Captain was momentarily stunned that Calculus had actually understood his question, much less read the letter himself, when Calculus continued, "Yes, I heard about the Christmas market! Did Tintin have fun? I hear the shops are quite nice this time of year," he added warmly.

"Yes, he went to the Christmas market," the Captain replied, irritated. "But I'm talking about that interplanetary goat, Bianca Castafiore! She's coming, Cuthbert, she's coming!" He leaned forward and shook Calculus' shoulders. "Do you understand? She's coming, here, to this house! Today!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" said Calculus, looking genuinely disappointed. "I had hoped so that Tintin would buy you that model ship you wanted at the market. It's really too bad."

"I'm not talking about the model ship! Yes, I do want it! But I'm talking about Castafiore!"

Suddenly, Calculus' eyes grew wide with realization. "Castafiore?" he breathed.

"You actually know what I'm talking about?" Haddock asked, astonished. "Do you understand?"

"How wonderful of her! How too wonderful!" Calculus exulted, blushing. "What a dear, sweet angel of a woman!"

"What do you mean, 'dear, sweet angel'?"

"How wonderful of her, to send you the model ship herself! Did she buy it at the market? My dear Captain, I'm overjoyed! Is she here, in the village?"

It wasn't quite what the Captain had hoped for, but he took it. "Yes, she's here in the village. In a way, that is."

"What do you mean, 'gone away'?" Calculus asked, his expression suddenly turning desperate. "You mean we won't see her? But… you said she was here just now, at the Christmas market!"

"No! No, that is not what I said! I said that she's coming to this house!"

Calculus looked down, and suddenly noticed the slightly wet rag in Haddock's hand. "You do know that there's plant fertilizer on that rag, don't you?"

Haddock stopped and looked slowly down at Calculus. "What do you mean, 'plant fertilizer'?"

"It's something I use to keep the roses blooming," Calculus explained. "It's lucky for you that it didn't get on your face or mouth, otherwise you would've been sick for days."

/

As he stumbled back into the house, feeling slightly dazed and with a roaring headache, Captain Haddock decided that he was officially having a bad day. First, a Christmas without snow. Then, Bianca Castafiore. Then, death by plant fertilizer. Could it possibly get any worse?

He made his way to the front room and dialed up his doctor.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Doctor!" said Haddock into the telephone. Not sure how to continue, he blurted out, "Do you know of any side effects from eating fertilizer?"

There was a silence on the other end for about ten seconds. Then, "You ate what?"

"Plant fertilizer! Will it- I don't know, make me sick?"

"How long ago did you consume the fertilizer? How much? How are you feeling right now?"

"About five minutes ago. I wiped a rag soaked in liquid fertilizer over my mouth. I didn't exactly drink it, but, blistering barnacles, I'm worried all right! I've already got a splitting headache!"

"Do you know what you should do?"

"What?"

"I would suggest trying to make yourself throw up. Later on, you may develop a stomachache and you would certainly vomit then, but it would be more effective to do it now. Get a friend or family member to help you do it. It will clear out most of the fertilizer from your system."

"Thundering typhoons! Make myself throw up? Never!"

"If you don't do it now, it may get much, much worse, and you may have to be hospitalized. I would highly suggest vomiting. About ten minutes after that, phone me and let me know how you're doing."

"I'm not going to do it," replied Haddock. "I'd rather have the headache."

"It's your choice. If you decide to do it, let me know."

"Goodbye, Doctor."

"Goodbye."

He let the phone down with a click. _Make myself vomit? _The very idea was disgusting. "Never," he said to himself, walking towards the kitchen. Maybe there would be some bread he could eat to wash down the fertilizer. Maybe that would help. On the other hand, it might not, but it was worth a try.

He opened the fridge, scanning its contents for bread. Nothing there. Slamming the fridge doors, he looked at the counter. _Yes! _There it was, a warm, crusty loaf of French bread just out of the oven.

Forgetting the idea of a knife completely, he grabbed part of the warm loaf and tore it off. He was just about to put it in his mouth when he felt a surge of pain sear through his head. Momentarily stunned, he blacked out, lost his balance, and fell to the floor. It didn't help that his stomach was also beginning to feel sour: clearly, the fertilizer was spreading.

_I'm going to have to throw up, _he decided grimly_. I'm going to do it._

Dazed and picking himself up from the tile floor, he rushed to the main foyer. His head spun; too panicked to be logical and consider the bathroom sink, he grabbed a large Oriental vase from and end table, placed it in the middle of the room, and bent over.

He was just putting his finger in the back of his throat, and beginning to gag, when the front doors opened and he heard a scream.

A loud, operatic, shrill scream.

As the Captain looked up, confused, he saw three figures in the doorway.

Between her entourage, which was comprised of her maid Irma and accompanist Wagner, Bianca Castafiore herself stood in the doorway, resplendent in a mink fur coat, white pillbox hat, and perhaps half a ton of diamond jewelry.

"My poor Captain!" she screeched, gloved hands cupped around her face. "My poor, poor Captain Birkenstock! Whatever are you doing?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **And now, for better or for worse, Tintin and Captain Haddock are headed for A Very Castafiore Christmas.

Don't forget to **review** if you liked it!


	3. Castafiore Arrives!

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay! Anyway, here you go. :) Enjoy!

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**Chapter 3**

"Hello, Signora!" Haddock heard Tintin call, and turned to see Tintin emerging from the hallway. "How wonderful to see-" Then he noticed the Captain. "Captain, what are you doing with that vase? That was a welcome-home present for Castafiore, here!"

His headache still pounding, Haddock quickly withdrew his finger from his mouth and placed the Oriental vase back on the end table. "I-uh, was just looking at it," he explained, trying to sound cheerful. "Ah- Castafiore!" he said, turning around and pasting a smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to- er- see you again!"

"Pleased too, I'm sure," laughed Castafiore. "Delighted!"

"I'm so glad you could come!"

"As am I!" Castafiore clasped her gloved hands together and batted her false eyelashes dramatically. "Ah, Tintin! Ah, my dear Captain Comstock! It's been so long! Come into my arms!" she sang, somehow managing to grab both Tintin and Haddock and thrust them into the pillowy folds of her coat.

Suffocating under the layers of fur and jewelry, Captain Haddock had the impression of being hit by a train. Her obnoxiously sweet perfume drilled into his senses and coated his consciousness; her pearl necklace dug into his forehead. After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled them back and looked over Tintin and Haddock fondly. "Mi sei mancato molto! Ti voglio bene!"

Extricating himself from Castafiore's embrace, Tintin walked towards the Oriental vase and brought it to Bianca. "Since you've already seen it, Signora, you might as well have your present now!" he laughed, pressing it towards her. "I bought it at the Christmas market. It's imported straight from China. The moment I saw it, I thought of you!"

"How too darling, my boy!" replied Castafiore, inspecting the vase.

Haddock shot Tintin a look. The look said, _Why are you lying about this? _He knew they both knew that the letter from Castafiore hadn't been delivered until after Tintin went to the market. Tintin couldn't have possibly bought the vase with her in mind.

_It's okay_, Tintin mouthed back. And then the Captain understood. He had bought it at the Christmas market, no doubt for the house. He was just trying to cover up for Haddock's odd behavior by saying it was a present that the Captain was inspecting. A thin story, obviously, but Castafiore likely wouldn't see past the ruse.

Castafiore put the vase on the floor with the air of a child who has gotten bored with their new toy. "Irma, put that in my car with the other presents," she commanded, and Irma scuttled off with the vase.

"I was hoping for a bit more- er- snow! Ahahaha!" laughed Bianca to Tintin and Haddock. "Christmas in the… rustic country and all…"

"I'm sure we'll have a wonderful holiday anyway, though," smiled Tintin.

"But of course!"

"And who knows, maybe it will snow at the last moment!"

"Yes- perhaps! Ahahaha!"

Captain Haddock was beginning to get very tired of Castafiore's shrill, musical laughter. "Would you like Nestor to see to your luggage, Signora?" he suggested, hoping that once she had unpacked, she would go to her room and spare them for a few hours.

"How wonderful of you to think of me like that, my good man!" she said, looking at Haddock gratefully. "Would you call Nestor for me? Ahahaha!"

/

Bianca Castafiore's luggage, as it turned out, had filled almost the entirety of the black limousine she had arrived in, spilling over into the back seats. Because of the sheer quantity of suitcases, and the fact that Nestor was too old to carry the heaviest ones, Tintin and the Captain had somehow been recruited to help Bianca unpack. As she sang out orders about where to put each one, Nestor, Haddock, Tintin, Irma and Wagner all pitched in to help with the massive project.

"It's a pity she has so many things," panted Haddock to Tintin as they leaned into the car to pick up suitcases and beauty bags. "I was hoping for a nice quiet cup of tea. And a book perhaps, while she's doing… whatever she does… in her bedroom. Instead, I have to bring everything in."

"Cheer up, Captain, it won't take that long," said Tintin briskly, hefting a large tote bag. It looked like a disaster waiting to happen, with the top unzipped and spilling over with various cosmetics.

"Blistering barnacles, is she going to set up a beauty parlor at Marlinspike?" complained Haddock. "Just look at all that stuff! Next thing you know, she'll install an elevator!"

"You know…"

"Don't tell me!"

"You know, Captain, we really should install an elevator here at Marlinspike. What if you sprain your ankle again? We'd need a way for you to go between floors in a wheelchair. Or possibly, for moving heavy furniture upstairs."

"Well, I don't have the money for it," the Captain objected.

"Then why do you pour money into that greenhouse for the Professor?" Tintin smiled. "I know you do the finances and not me, but, believe me, we're set for life!"

"Well then, I just don't want to," he said lamely.

Tintin followed Haddock up the marble stairs to Castafiore's bedroom. "By the way, what _were_ you doing with that vase?"

"Um… nothing in particular."

"Nothing in particular? Is that so?"

Captain Haddock groaned. He knew better than to try to fool Tintin. "Well, I was trying to make myself… you know…"

"You were trying to make yourself do what?" asked Tintin suspiciously.

"Throw up! I was trying to make myself vomit!" The Captain burst out.

There was a long pause.

"All right. You know what, I'm not even going to ask."

"I was trying to make myself vomit up some fertilizer! I accidentally ate fertilizer!"

Tintin stopped halfway up the stairs. "What do you mean, 'fertilizer'?"

"Why is this so hard for people to comprehend?" Haddock exclaimed, turning around to face Tintin. "I ate plant fertilizer from the greenhouse, okay?"

"Unintentionally?"

"That's what I said!"

"Why were you in the greenhouse? To see Calculus?"

The Captain threw his hands in the air. "What is this, twenty questions? How many times do I have to say it? _I accidentally ate plant fertilizer_. There, are you happy now?"

"Maybe. You know, it would've been a better idea to vomit into a toilet or sink. You do… realize that, right?"

"Well… yes…" the Captain admitted. "But I wasn't thinking clearly. I just sort of grabbed the first thing that I saw."

"Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you, I really do."

"It's my house!" Haddock protested.

"Whatever."

As they resumed walking up the stairs, Tintin asked, "So are you feeling better now?"

Haddock put a hand over his stomach. It felt like it was bubbling, and he still had a raging headache. "No, I don't believe I do. As a matter of fact, I feel much worse."

"How much worse? Like, I'm-about-to-die worse? Or, I-think-I-have-a-stomach-bug worse?"

"Maybe the death one," Haddock conceded. "I'm not sure."

"Hmm. Well, you tell me when you're a little closer to dying, and I'll call your lawyer."

"You don't even care, do you?"

"Not particularly."

"You mean, you don't care that I'm sick, or you don't care that I'm dying?"

Tintin placed the bag in Castafiore's room with a loud thud, and began walking back down the staircase. "Either way, it's pretty much the same thing, isn't it?"

Haddock followed him, annoyed. "When I'm dead, you'll be sorry."

"Actually, I think it would be pretty fun," said Tintin sweetly.

/

After a torturous half-hour of greetings and 'catch-up', Bianca Castafiore finally retreated to her bedroom. Nestor, fatigued from carrying her luggage, went to the kitchen to check on the dinner for that evening. To his credit, he never once mentioned the French bread. Irma disappeared to the bedroom with Castafiore, and Wagner went to the maritime gallery to practice scales. Captain Haddock, determined never to hear Wagner's scales again, had ordered identical, soundproofed doors for the gallery over the summer. He noted with satisfaction, as he sat on the sofa with a book and cup of tea, that the dreaded scales were much fainter now; barely audible, in fact.

Tintin sat on the sofa across from the Captain, reading a book about dog training. Haddock had never thought it looked particularly interesting- just one of those books that you read once, condemn for wasting your time, and never look at again. Tintin, on the other hand, never tired of picking up the volume and spending hours absorbed in its contents.

Meanwhile, Haddock had selected a book much more to his taste: a swashbuckling adventure about sailors and giant whales, which he read contentedly between sips of tea.

It was 4:22 in the afternoon, and the cold December light had darkened faster than anybody expected. It almost looked like night already. The giant two-story curtains in the parlor had been drawn, creating a cozy darkness brightened by the warm glow of the fire. Putting a bookmark in his book, Captain Haddock closed his eyes and leaned back, imaging cold and snowy winter nights with Christmas music droning in the background, and big steaming mugs of hot cocoa.

Now that he thought of it, he didn't understand why he had called for a cup of tea when it was only three days to Christmas. He really should have called for hot cocoa.

But even without the cocoa, he was content. Almost content. _At least Tintin will always be here_, he thought, looking fondly at his friend. _That has to count for something. And Calculus, too. And Snowy. _

Besides, he could handle anything that Bianca Castafiore could dish out in the next three days, couldn't he?

_Now if only we had snow._

/

Captain Haddock woke up the next morning to the sound of… what was it? Singing? Feeling sore and uncomfortable, and with his headache a dull throb in the back of his head, he groggily pushed the sheets aside and listened.

"Shepherds shake off your drowsy sleep, rise and leave your silly sheep!"

The sound was coming from outside, not loudly, but he could very clearly hear it. A choir, maybe? "Who would be singing at this hour?" he wondered, to nobody in particular. Had they come, by their own volition, to celebrate something? The day before Christmas Eve, maybe?

_Why would they do that?_

"Angels from heaven around them singing, tidings of great joy are bringing!"

The carolers' slightly off-key warbling was louder now, and Haddock was beginning to get very annoyed. Why couldn't they just let him sleep? He felt half-dead as it was; he'd barely gotten any sleep last night, and between the headache and stomachache from the fertilizer, he was surprised that he'd gotten any at all.

"Shepherds a chorus come and swell, sing Noel, oh sing Noel!"

He was officially in a bad mood now. After swinging open the window and drunkenly shouting at the carolers to go away, he stumbled into the bathroom. He would get revenge on whoever was doing this to him, he was sure of that.

Or at least, he tried to stumble into the bathroom. But all he felt was a thin, flexible wall. He hadn't seen it coming, because it was… clear.

_Not again! _

When he tried to pull back, all he felt was a sticky resistance. He was stuck!

Somebody had strung a wall of clear tape in the bathroom doorway.

"Tintin!" he howled, no longer caring if he woke the whole house. "Tintin, I'll get you for this!"

/

After a good thirty minutes spent extricating himself from the tape, and several efforts to brush his teeth only to find that his faucet was broken, he took a cold bath.

A cold bath, because somebody had used all of the hot water this morning. And he had no doubt who it was.

This was going to be a very long day.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Tintin and his pranking! He's so mean!

If you liked it, **review!**


	4. Nervous Breakdown

**Author's Note**: I was having a lot of fun writing this chapter! :) Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

He staggered down the grand staircase, still pulling his bathrobe on, feeling disheveled, unkempt, and dead tired. When he got to the bottom, Castafiore was there, trotting around the house in her six-inch heels, shouting orders to Nestor about cooking temperatures for breakfast.

_As if he doesn't already know!_

When Castafiore saw him, she stopped in front of the stairs. "Ah, Captain Craddock! How lovely to see you! Did you have a good night's rest?"

"I… uh… not really," he mumbled, trying to avoid her as he neared the bottom of the stairs, but she trotted towards him and blocked his path.

"Now, now, Captain! That just won't do!" Her presence in front of him loomed overhead, dark and ominous, like some portent of doom. With a pudgy powdered hand, she patted his cheek affectionately. "It just won't do!"

"What won't do?" wondered Haddock blearily, wishing he was still in bed. _It's nine in the morning, for goodness sake. I'm never up this early!_

As Castafiore chattered on about something they were eating for breakfast, the Captain took a moment to survey her outfit for the day. Glossy red pumps, a ridiculous green-and-red dress that was probably supposed to look like holly and ivy, bright red lipstick, and demonic-looking dark green eye shadow. Not to mention what he guessed was several hundred carats of gold jewelry. _Blistering barnacles, she looks like a carnival attraction in that outfit!_

"…but I knew how much you adored Christmas, Captain, so I thought to myself, 'Why not send the poor old man some Christmas carolers to cheer him up? I know he'll like that!"

The Captain opened his eyes wide, suddenly awake with realization. "You sent those carolers?"

Bianca pursed her lips and looked slightly frustrated. "Well, yes, I did, but they seemed to have stopped."

As if right on cue, the dreaded voices began again.

"Cometh at length the age of peace, strife and sorrow now shall cease! Prophets foretold the wondrous story, of this heaven-born prince of glory!"

Castafiore smiled indulgently. "The little darlings, they've begun again! How too wonderful!"

"Why did you send them?" Haddock demanded. "I don't like Christmas music! Make them stop!"

"Why- you little old Ebenezer Scrooge, you! Ahahaha!" she laughed shrilly, the obscene sound ringing in Haddock's ears. "You don't mean that!"

As a matter of fact, Captain Haddock adored Christmas music. But certainly not now, certainly not here, and certainly not in connection to Bianca Castafiore. "Make them stop," he said, deliberately. "Please."

Castafiore looked offended. "Fine, then. Do it yourself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to attend to upstairs. Out of the way, my good man!"

Stunned momentarily, Haddock watched as Bianca breezed past him and trotted up the grand staircase. He was amazed at how quickly that woman's mood changed. _What a prima donna! _He thought disgustedly.

And now that she was out of the way, it was time for breakfast.

/

He found Tintin in the breakfast-room, looking neat, polite, and crisply dressed in a pair of khaki cords and blue pullover. Briefly forgetting Tintin's prank, he focused his attentions on food and sat down in the chair opposite Tintin, surveying the breakfast for the day.

"What do we have here?" he asked, partly to himself and partly to Tintin.

Tintin cut a sliver of pastry with his knife and ate it, chewing thoughtfully. "Cheese Danish, deviled eggs, croissants and fruit salad. Oh, and hot cocoa. Or coffee, if you want it."

"Hmm. Not bad."

"Not at all." With a slightly wicked smile, Tintin asked, "Did you have a bit of a rough time waking up this morning?"

"You know very well what kind of time I had this morning."

"Do I?" Tintin mimicked an innocent look. "I'm not sure I do."

'You do, believe me."

"I do?"

"You do."

"Hmm. As a matter of fact, I think it might be coming back," Tintin confessed. The Captain was convinced he heard a bit of restrained laughter in Tintin's voice, but he decided not to mention it.

"Let's hope so," muttered Haddock, looking out of the window. "Just so you know, this discussion isn't over."

"Will we get snow, do you think?" asked Tintin, deftly changing the subject.

It certainly didn't look like snow. The overcast skies of yesterday had thinned into a clear, crisp winter sky, and the ground was just as bare as ever. No, it probably wouldn't snow until January, and then they would have a blizzard.

"No," divined Haddock. "I predict very boring weather for the next few days."

"Hmm," replied Tintin, his mouth too full of pastry for anything else.

The Captain lowered his head into his hands, letting out a long sigh. "I'm so tired, Tintin. Everything is going wrong. I've been having bad luck in just about everything lately. Between the whole no-snow thing, and my splitting headache, and that anachronistic anacoluthon in our house, sometimes I feel like I'm going to have a nervous breakdown!"

At that moment, a shrill scream resounded through the entire house. It sounded like Bianca Castafiore, and it sounded like she was mad. "Ir-maa!" she shrieked. "Where did you put my fur coat and gloves? Answer me, girl!"

Captain Haddock raised a finger. "Listen," he whispered. "This is what I'm talking about."

"Yes, the Prada coat!" Castafiore screamed again, angrily this time. "No, not the other one! I don't wear that garbage! Bring me the Prada coat!"

A timid-sounding voice answered in reply, but was too faint to be heard clearly.

Heavy, fast footsteps stormed through the upstairs. "What are you doing to my darling coat?" Castafiore was shrieking. "What are you doing, cutting it?"

"I think she's in for it now," whispered Haddock with a chuckle, still listening intently.

"What a stupid notion!" Bianca was shouting. "Mending my coat? I'll have you know, girl, that coat is made from priceless Barguzin sable fur! If I wanted it repaired, I'd take it to the best tailor in the country! Certainly not you! Now, give it to me, and give it to me now!"

A door slammed loudly, and the sound of stomping feet grew closer. It sounded like Castafiore was walking down the stairs now. "It's ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous!" she shouted.

"She's coming," Haddock whispered, and both he and Tintin ducked down and began eating again.

They were just in time. A second later, Castafiore burst through the doors to the breakfast room, holding a fashion magazine and slapping it on her palm for emphasis. "Idiot girl!" she shrieked, her face crimson with fury. Tintin and the Captain turned around to face her. Haddock was doing his best to look sympathetic, but he was pretty sure that his smirk was showing.

Fortunately, Castafiore was too upset to notice. "Can you believe it?" she continued angrily. "Taking matters into her own hands like that! My priceless Barguzin sable coat! I should have her fired!"

"What happened, Signora?" asked Tintin politely, as if he didn't already know. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Bianca looked at Tintin and opened her mouth, doubtless to begin ranting about Irma's iniquities, when Professor Calculus walked through the doors to the breakfast room. "Good morning, all! What do-"

When he saw Castafiore, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Signora," he began carefully, "I'm not quite sure that I understand what's going on here."

Haddock turned white, remembering the misunderstanding in the greenhouse, when he had inadvertently told Calculus that Castafiore had 'gone away'. Realizing what a tenuous situation they were facing now, he carefully rose from his chair and opened his mouth to explain.

The Professor looked at Haddock carefully, looking annoyed. "My dear Captain, I must inform you that I have been deceived."

"Deceived? No, you haven't! I can explain!" began Haddock, desperately trying to avoid the inevitable. "It was just a misunderstanding-"

Calculus was turning pink now, fists clenched in anger. "Great sunspots! I was led to believe that Castafiore had gone away! A misunderstanding, Captain? I think not!"

Castafiore stood between the two, looking irritated and confused at the same time. Obviously, she had no conception of what was going on. "My good man," she began, addressing the Professor, "will you be so kind as to not interrupt other people's conversations?"

In any other situation, Calculus would have been fawning at Bianca's feet, but not now. Right now, he was angry. "Signora, until now I never realized that you were here, in this house!' He wheeled to face the Captain. "Because he deceived me!"

"I did nothing!" protested Haddock. "I said, I can explain!"

"Yes, the truth is plain, Captain! It is very plain!" He turned to Tintin angrily. "Tintin, how long has the signora been here?"

Tintin rose from his chair. "Only a day, Professor! I can assure you, any deception on the Captain's part was completely unintentional!"

Calculus turned to Haddock triumphantly. "See?" he declared. "Tintin is on my side!"

Tintin looked stunned. "No, I am not! I'm not on anyone's side!" Walking towards Calculus, he shouted, "It was a mistake, Professor! A mis-take!"

Castafiore was furious now. "My dear Professor," she shouted, "I am not a woman who accepts this kind of subordination from her social inferiors!"

Tintin rushed to her side. "Signora, it was a mistake! I'm sure you'll forgive our friend. He doesn't understand what's going on."

"No, and I don't believe I do, either!"

_Poor Tintin, _thought the Captain as he watched the scene. _Always the diplomat. Blistering barnacles, he's going to get himself in trouble one of these days, trying to fix everything!_

Haddock decided to step in. "Signora, the Professor is tired. Don't pay attention to what he says. A bit touched in the upper story. He got sunstroke the other day. Sunstroke- you know how it is…"

"My good man, it is the middle of December-" began Castafiore angrily, but Tintin cut her off.

"Signora, it was a mistake!" he said again.

Bianca veered to face Tintin. "Young man, if you interrupt me one more time…"

Captain Haddock didn't stay to hear the rest of her sentence. He was through. He was tired of arguing, he was tired of Castafiore and her entourage, and his headache was coming back to boot.

He was leaving.

Rushing to the kitchen, he called, "Nestor! Bring me my suitcase!"

* * *

**Author's Note**: What will happen next? Mwahahahaha!

As always, **review** if you liked it!


	5. The Christmas Market

**Author's Note**: So, Haddock decided to run away after all. :) Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

With his winter coat on his back, his packed suitcase in hand, and a fistful of cash in his pocket, he burst through Marlinspike's front doors into the bitter December air.

He was so tired of it all; he was tired of everything. It was all going wrong. He had to leave; he didn't know where he was going, but he was leaving.

"I'm not going to stand it another minute," he grumbled, running towards the garage. The cold wind whipped through his hair, and for a moment, he felt a wonderful, euphoric sense of freedom. He was finally doing it. He was finally going.

"Past three o'clock on a cold frosty morning, past three o'clock, good morrow masters all!"

Confused, Haddock turned and realized that the carolers were still there. There were about ten of them, singing away and looking slightly tired. The quality of their voices had declined significantly: instead off off-key warbling, they sounded like… like…

_Like terminally ill frogs, _he decided.

"You can go now!" he shouted. "Every one of you! You can go now!" The singing stopped abruptly, and the carolers shuffled off down the road to the village.

_Well, that's taken care of that! _

He knew that nobody would be particularly worried. He'd done this sort of thing before, and come back every time. He knew that Tintin fully expected him to be back within a few hours, after he was done getting drunk at the local bar, or whatever it was Tintin thought he did with his free time. Haddock, however, was pretty sure that this was the last time. This would be the time he'd really do it.

He quickly unlocked the black sedan and sat down, turning on the ignition and backing out of the garage. He didn't have a destination in mind, only the knowledge that he was going to go as far away as possible, in as little time as possible.

He zoomed down the brown winter road, feeling free, happy, exhilarated. He was a bit remorseful about leaving Tintin and Calculus, especially around Christmas, but he was pretty sure they could take care of themselves.

Finally, he rounded the bend into the main village road, passing people bundled up like Eskimos on the path. The winter panorama opened up before him: wide, frozen, and cold. At first, he mainly only passed people and barns, with the occasional cow or dead tree. But as he got closer and closer to the main village, his surroundings became more urban: rows of brick townhouses decorated with fir garlands and red-ribboned wreathes.

_Why am I going to the village? _he wondered_. I thought I was running away. To the airport, maybe. _But he still didn't turn around, instead following the traffic into the main village center.

The townhouses became smaller, taller, and more closely packed together. Soon, those turned into beautiful institutional and government buildings at least eight stories high. The sidewalks became broader, paved with brick instead of concrete, and lined with lamp-posts and Christmas trees.

As he continued, the honking became louder and louder, and he realized the traffic was becoming thicker. He still didn't know why he was her, instead of driving in the other direction. _I might as well, _he decided._ There's plenty of time left in the day. I'll go to the Christmas market, and then I'll take a plane to Italy._

Then he was in the very center of the city. Even though it was only 11 in the morning, the entire Christmas market had been illuminated in a dazzling show of colors, most of them white, red, or green. The crowds thickened; most of them were laughing and talking and carrying steaming cups of hot cocoa. The Captain opened his window and closed his eyes, letting the heavenly scent of freshly made waffles, chocolate, and ginger cookies invade his senses. Carnival-style tents striped with red and green contained shops selling fir and spruce wreathes; a band to his left played a Christmas hymn with trumpets and strings, and in the very center of the market, a giant double-tier carousel rotated slowly.

The market was so famous worldwide that it had quickly grown over the years, and this year it was so large that it occupied the entire town square. Sections of the road had been cordoned off, and road supervisors dressed in orange waved signs pointing towards a parking garage, which all of the cars in front of Haddock were slowly driving towards. He found himself unconsciously following them, and shook himself mentally. _You're supposed to be running away, remember? _

But the more he thought about it, the less pleasing the idea of going to an exotic island became. He did love Christmas, after all. Maybe he should go to the festival, just to do it, and then stay at a hotel in town. That way, he could be close to Tintin and still far away from Castafiore.

Suddenly, he realized that the entire line of cars behind him was honking loudly, so he quickly sped into the parking garage with the other cars, paid the fee (which really was exorbitant), and after much searching, found a spot.

_I'll go to the market for a few minutes, and then I'll find a hotel in town_, he decided.

/

Captain Haddock strolled down the main thoroughfare of the Christmas market, taking in every sight, every smell. The Christmas carolers- singing because they wanted to, not because they were hired to- sounded ten times more beautiful than the ones outside Marlinspike, although they were singing the same songs. The smells wafting from the wooden chalets and circus-style tents were mouth-watering. Waffles, Belgian fries, and chocolate truffles were sold next to kugelhopf and tarte-au-fromage, just like Tintin had described.

_Tintin. Blistering barnacles, I miss him already. _How could he have been so stupid as to think he'd really survive a Christmas without Tintin? He'd gladly spend the holiday in a hotel to get away from Castafiore, but how could he spend it away from Tintin? _Thundering typhoons! I'm not going to leave; I'm going to stay right here!_

He knew he was being predictable. He knew that this was exactly what Tintin had expected him to do. But there was no way he could leave, not now, not ever. It wouldn't be easy living with Castafiore for a week, especially not during Christmas, but he couldn't miss it. He couldn't to that to himself, or Tintin.

Surveying the holiday stalls, and listening to the music, and smelling the delicious food, he decided that he should buy a Christmas present for Tintin, as long as he was here. _Why not? I haven't bought anything yet, anyway._

_What did he want for Christmas? _Haddock wondered, realizing that he had absolutely no idea what Tintin wanted, and realizing that he probably should.

He passed a row of motorcycles, lined up neatly. _Maybe another motorcycle? _He wondered, then decided the idea was ridiculous. A second, later, he realized that they weren't for sale: it was one of those racks that you chain your bicycle or motorcycle to, not a sales display.

He was about to move on when he noticed a motorcycle that looked a lot like Tintin's. Same tan color, slightly outdated. Interested, he moved closer to examine it. _Wow, this really looks like Tintin's motorcycle! _he thought, running a hand over the controls.

Then he noticed the initials on the seat. Tintin's initials.

"Thundering typhoons! It _is_ Tintin's motorcycle!" he breathed. So, Tintin was here, at the market? Why would he be here? He knew it would be bad if Tintin saw him for two reasons: primarily, because he was here to buy Tintin a present; secondarily, because it would just be downright embarrassing. Haddock _had_ said he was leaving, after all.

Deciding it would be better not to remain here in the open, Captain Haddock tried to move into the more crowded section of the market. As he pushed and shoved his way through the crowds, he formed a plan. He would locate and purchase a present for Tintin, and then he would leave as quickly as possible and return to Marlinspike before Tintin did, hopefully sparing his pride and making Tintin look ridiculous instead. The plan might work; it was worth a try.

He passed a small kiosk selling delicious-looking pretzels. _Not that. _He passed another kiosk selling walking-sticks. _I don't think so. _

Suddenly, he looked up. At first, he wasn't sure why he had looked up, or what he had noticed, but then it came again. A flash of ginger, a bright red quiff in the crowd. _Tintin? _He had known that Tintin was here at the market, but he certainly hadn't expected him to be so close!

Haddock dove behind an enormous man in a long black coat while he surveyed his options. He looked forward: that was the market center, with the two-tier carousel. He looked to his right, and quickly looked back, because for a moment he had seen Tintin's quiff again. _That was stupid! _He chided himself silently. _I knew he was there!_

To his left was the art section of the market, where they sold handmade goods like Christmas wreathes, paintings, and furniture. _That's definitely my best option. _Without a second thought, he plunged into the art section.

As he slowed down, he remembered to look around. He was searching for a present for Tintin, after all. He checked every stall very carefully for something that might be Tintin's style, but nothing really popped out at him as a likely candidate. It was always too tacky, too girly or too weird. The German painted rocking chairs didn't really look like they were Tintin's thing, and the six-foot dancing snowman could have been a funny gag gift, but it was too big.

And then he saw it. He hadn't been looking for it; he'd stumbled across it accidentally. Surrounded by a crown of tourists. Obviously popular.

"It's beautiful," he whispered, awestruck.

It was a scaled replica of one of his favorite ships, the HMS Pandora, covered with gold and dark blue trimmings. He'd been wanting it for months since he heard that an exceptional model had been made, but this was the last place he expected to find it. _Thundering typhoons, it's incredible!_

Everything about the model was perfect. Its tiny wood pieces had been seamlessly fitted together, the masts cut to just the right size, and in just the right color. Not a single line or thread was out of place. Eager to see how much it cost, Haddock took a closer look at the price tag…

…and found, not surprisingly, that it was worth a fortune. He could never buy that for himself with a good conscience.

_I can't buy it, _he decided_. I just can't._

Reluctantly, he withdrew himself from the crowds, and continued on his search to find Tintin a good present. As disappointed as he was about the ship's price, it didn't take him long to realize that he might as well stop dwelling on it. _It was ridiculous to think I'd ever get it, anyway._

_Now, on with Tintin's present!_

After several minutes of wandering, he quickly realized that he was lost. Well, not exactly lost: he realized that he was farther outside of the market center now, and walking through the outskirts. The spaces in between the stalls were getting wider, and if he continued, would probably give way to the brownstones and village roads of the downtown.

There were less people now too, far less. Less people manning the stalls, less people walking around looking at the things in the stalls. But Haddock wasn't concerned. Even though there was less fine art here and more holiday-themed garbage, he had a kind of vague hope that he would find a diamond in the rough.

It was getting darker now; the Christmas lights glowed and shimmered in the square. The air became cold and crisp, the sky became a darker blue.

_Even though Tintin's here, I don't have much time. _Tintin would most likely be going back to Marlinspike- if not now, very soon.

_I need to find a present for him, and I need to find it now! _

In the corner of his eye, he noticed a man putting away his stall for the night. It was a strange impulse, but he wanted to make sure that he didn't miss anything. Just in case.

"Wait!" he shouted to the man, who stopped and looked up at the sound. "Could I see… really quickly…" his voice petered off as he got closer.

"Would you like to see my wares?" inquired the man, a kindly –looking person with close-cropped white hair and a bowler hat. "I'm just about to close up for the night, but you can look if you want."

"I'll look, thank you," said the Captain, already scanning each object hopefully. The man was obviously an artist, he could see that. And a very good one, too. He wouldn't be surprised if he got lucky at this place.

But none of the paintings really looked like Tintin's style— most of them were a bit… lacking, somehow. Haddock was pretty sure that he could imagine Tintin's face as he received a mediocre Italian landscape: not exactly excited or disappointed, but only vaguely appreciative. Tintin would smile and say thank-you, but that wasn't what Haddock wanted.

Haddock wanted to give Tintin a present that he would remember forever. And he wasn't seeing anything like that here.

"Do you see anything?" the man suggested hopefully.

The Captain shook his head. "No. But thank you," he said, trying to remain polite. It really was too bad: he knew he wasn't going to find anything else without a lot of searching. And he was too tired to keep shopping.

But as he began to turn and walk away, he noticed that there was a small bag in the corner of the stall: obviously, the bag that the man had begun to put the paintings in when he was closing up shop. He wheeled around.

"Could you open that bag?" he asked.

The man obliged, and placed three paintings on the counter.

Captain Haddock looked at the first one quickly; nothing interesting. The second one was just okay. But the third one made his heart stop.

"But-" he spluttered. "But- that's- that's- I live there!" he burst out. "That's Marlinspike!"

It was a beautifully rendered painting of Marlinspike Hall in the winter, with white snow on the ground and a crisp blue sky in the background. The door was half open, streaming light into the courtyard, and the windows were bathed in a warm glow.

"But… I… live there…" Haddock mumbled, dumbfounded.

"You live there? That's wonderful!" the man congratulated. "Marlinspike… is that what it's called? I've often wondered. I painted this picture, oh, several years ago, perhaps."

"You- you did?"

"Before you lived there, I suppose. It's empty in this picture. Not that you can tell, though; I painted lights into the windows to make it look lived-in."

"How much is this painting?"

The man named the amount, and Haddock gladly handed him the money. After the painting had been securely packaged in bubble wrap and bagged, Haddock walked away whistling. He could barely believe his good fortune: seconds away from giving up and leaving, he'd seen this incredible painting!

As he wound his way through the stalls, he felt content. Happy. Euphoric, even. Before he even realized it, he was singing.

"For tonight we'll merry, merry be, for tonight we'll merry, merry be, for tonight we'll merry, merry be, tomorrow we'll be sober!"

He sang it all the way to the parking garage. All five verses of it.

Twice.

* * *

**Author's Note:** To be continued!

As always, **review** if you liked it!


	6. Clueless

Captain Haddock pulled into Marlinspike's garage just as the sun dipped below the horizon. A quiet, dark blueness had settled over the whole earth, it seemed; a blanket of calm and peace. _Now, if only there were snow, this day would be perfect._

Well, perfect was a relative term. If you didn't count Castafiore invading their house, maybe the day would have been perfect. If you didn't count the annoying carolers, perhaps. If you didn't count the pranking, and the fact that Haddock had still not, as of yet, had anything to eat today. He'd skipped right over breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Well, he would have something to eat now, that was for sure. There was probably something in the fridge left over from dinner. If he could eat that quickly and quietly, change into his pajamas, and slip into bed before anybody noticed, he would simply wake up at Marlinspike the following morning, looking as if he had never attempted to run away.

_The following morning! _The Captain remembered, with a mixture of excitement and dread. _Tomorrow morning is Christmas Eve!_

Ah well, he would live through it. And who knew; maybe it would be fun!

He hugged his coat closer to block out the winter chill and ran from the garage, hoping to get inside as soon as possible. _Thundering typhoons, what a temperature drop!_

The air had become noticeably colder from yesterday, plunging unexpectedly into the tens or twenties. If it snowed, this would be the perfect weather for dry, powdery snow: maybe not so good for building snowmen, but good for skiing down the makeshift kiddie hills that Captain Haddock set up for himself every winter. Marlinspike was built on several hundred rolling acres, and some parts of it had slopes perfect for Haddock's level of skiing prowess. As a matter of fact, he'd been looking forward to it since October.

But still, there was no snow. One of the many things contributing to what could possibly be the worst Christmas in Captain Haddock's memory.

As bad as it was, though, he wasn't terribly upset. And as he hugged the priceless painting closer to his body protectively, he knew that this particular holiday hadn't been a _complete_ waste.

Dashing up the front steps, he opened one of the front doors cautiously. Seeing a completely darkened foyer, he let out a long sigh of relief. _At least for tonight, I won't have to see Castafiore or Tintin, and they won't see me._

Comforted by the thought, he took a step into the foyer and closed the door softly behind him, feeling slightly gleeful, as if he was getting away with something. _Well, actually, I am. _

He hung up his coat on the coatrack and proceeded to the kitchen, where he cracked open a fridge door, spilling a sliver of dazzling light over the tiles.

"Let's see…" he muttered to himself. "What do we have here? Greek salad, something with turkey, some sort of cake, and… I'm not sure what that is."

_The cake looks pretty good_, he decided, taking it out, closing the fridge door, and placing the cake on the kitchen counter.

_Maybe I should have dinner before I have dessert, _suggested his more reasonable, more healthy side.

He thought about it for a moment, toying with the idea of eating the salad or turkey dish, but neither seemed particularly appealing.

_To heck with it! I don't have a reasonable, healthy side anyway!_

With that taken care of, he proceeded to unwrap the cake from its plastic foil. "Seven-layer cake," he breathed. "Chocolate, too."

That was his favorite cake, and Nestor knew it. Maybe Nestor made it as a welcome-home present for Haddock. He knew that when the Captain came back, he'd go to the fridge before anything else.

"He isn't a half-bad chap," determined Haddock, pulling a serving knife from a nearby drawer.

He was just about to cut the cake, when he heard a sound. It had sounded like a shuffling footstep, the sound of pant legs brushing against each other.

When he turned around, he saw a familiar ginger-colored quiff in the doorway.

"Tintin?" Haddock whispered.

The shape didn't move, but now he could clearly see that it was Tintin.

"Hello, Captain. Did you have a fun time at the Christmas market?" asked Tintin, a humorous note in his voice.

Haddock bristled. "How did you know?" he whispered back, knowing that it was pointless to argue.

"I know everything."

"I doubt that."

"Mm-hmm. I saw you there."

"You saw me?" Haddock asked, falteringly. _And I was so careful not to let him see me, too! _But of course, he should've known better than to think that simply running would fool Tintin. After all, the boy was a world-famous reporter. He'd know how to spot, and keep track of, somebody.

"Had second thoughts, Captain?" Tintin was practically laughing now.

"Well— actually, no," Haddock spluttered. "That was in my plan all along. I was going to the Christmas market anyway, but… I just said that I was running away so that Castafiore wouldn't try to follow me there."

_Wow! I just put together a really good argument! And on the spot, too! _Captain Haddock congratulated himself silently.

"Very convincing," replied Tintin unenthusiastically, clearly seeing through Haddock's explanation. Glancing at the package behind the Captain's back, he asked, "Did you buy something?"

_Oh no, not the painting too! _"No, I did not buy something! I bought nothing, absolutely nothing at all!" Haddock whispered furiously, too desperate to be logical. There was no way he'd let Tintin see the present, no matter what it took to prevent it.

And then he saw it. The large, dark square behind Tintin's back. Wondering if Tintin had bought something at the market as well, he decided he might as well use it to his advantage.

"You know, Tintin, it looks as if you have a little something yourself."

Tintin's silhouette shifted uncomfortably. "It's nothing," he whispered. "Just something I brought up from the cellar for Nestor."

"Come on, let me see it."

"No!"

"If it's so innocent, why can't I see it?"

"You just can't."

"I think it's probably fine."

"Probably not, actually," said Tintin quickly. "As a matter of fact, it's about time for me to go to bed now," he added.

"Good night then," said Haddock, with a chuckle.

Tintin grabbed the box and walked off. Within about ten seconds, Haddock heard his footsteps echoing on the grand staircase.

_I really put him on the defensive there! _thought the Captain, with a sense of victory. He could almost hear the fanfare and trumpets behind him. _I actually won an argument with Tintin!_

And with that, he took the knife and cut a slice of chocolate cake for himself.

/

When he blearily opened his eyes the next morning, Captain Haddock's first thought was, _It's Christmas Eve!_

His second thought was, _Who on earth is that woman standing in the bedroom doorway?_

"Up, up, up, Captain Hammock!"

With a start, Haddock jolted out of bed, his nerves buzzing with fright. No! Not her! Anybody but her!

Castafiore was in the doorway, wearing a furry white dress, white elbow-length gloves, white pumps, and a gauzy white hat. _I wonder what her theme is for today? A giant snowflake?_

"It's so wonderful to see you up and awake, Captain!" she sang delightedly, clasping her hands together and looking heavenward with exultation.

"What do you mean, 'see me'?" asked Haddock nervously. _How long has this woman been watching me? _he wondered_. What a stalker!_

"But— my dear Captain— whatever do you mean? Ahahaha!"

"Nevermind," he mumbled. "Signora, with all respect, could you please… leave… my… bedroom for a moment?"

"Leave? Why?" she asked, looking confused. For all of Castafiore's precision on manners and social graces, she seemed surprisingly uneducated on proper etiquette when staying at somebody else's house. _She acts as if she owns this bedroom! You don't just walk in on somebody when they're sleeping!_

"Do I have to explain why?" Haddock said, tiredly. He was beginning to regret his decision not to hop on a plane to Italy, after all.

Bianca ignored this question. "We're making the Christmas log and the casserole for tomorrow morning!" she said. "Tintin and the Professor are helping bake, too. As I'm sure you can understand, Captain, baking seemed like such a charming, country way to celebrate the holidays!"

"Eh," mumbled Haddock, looking at her through half-closed eyelids. As a matter of fact, he couldn't imagine a worse way to celebrate the holidays. In all the years that Nestor had prepared countless meals for him, Tintin, and Calculus, he'd never once considered helping. He just didn't like baking.

"And later on, we'll put up the Christmas decorations!" continued Castafiore, oblivious to Haddock's utter lack of enthusiasm. "The day's all been planned out. A wonderful agenda, don't you think, Captain?"

"Eh," Haddock mumbled a second time, closed his eyes, and rolled over in bed.

/

Ten minutes later, he was bathed, dressed, and very tired in the kitchen with Tintin, Nestor, Calculus and Castafiore. He wasn't exactly sure how it had happened, but he was pretty sure it had involved a lot of dragging and fighting and shouting.

"So, what are we making first?" Haddock asked, standing awkwardly in the center of the kitchen. They were already several steps into the recipe, and seemed to be doing perfectly well without him.

While Calculus listed off the ingredients, and Castafiore turned the electric mixer on high, Tintin shouted over the din, "We're making the Christmas log!"

"Why don't we cut one from outside?" Haddock asked, thoroughly confused.

Tintin laughed. "It's a chocolate sponge cake, Captain!"

"So, what am I supposed to do?" Haddock shouted back.

Tintin ran a finger over the ingredient list. "Bring me four eggs!" he said.

"Where can I find those?"

Tintin laughed again. "You're completely clueless, aren't you?"

Haddock shrugged. "Completely," he agreed.

"They're in a basket in the fridge."

Haddock opened the fridge and pulled out four eggs. _Easy enough, _he decided. There would be plenty of opportunities to make a mistake later, though.

"What do I do now?" he asked Tintin, again, only to find that the massive white form of Castafiore was blocking his vision.

"Why are you holding those eggs, Captain?" asked Castafiore, disapprovingly.

"Tintin told me to," he explained, somehow feeling that at any moment, Castafiore would smack him on the face for doing something wrong.

"Well, then, put them in the mixing bowl," she said primly, and trotted away in the direction of the fridge.

Feeling slightly dazed, Haddock walked towards the mixing bowl and turned it off. _I really have no idea how to cook, _he decided, as he wondered what connection the eggs had to the Christmas log that they were supposedly making. Should he just drop them in? Not knowing what else to do, he dropped the three eggs into the creamy-colored mixture.

He looked around for Tintin, finally finding the boy in the far corner of the kitchen, pulling a cookbook from the shelf. "Tintin!" he called out.

Tintin turned around to face Haddock. "How's it going so far?"

Captain Haddock suddenly realized that Tintin hadn't mentioned the conversation they'd had the night before. It was most likely intentional; Tintin wanted to avoid discussing it for some reason. And the Captain didn't want to discuss it either, so he decided not to bring it up.

"It's going okay… I think," Haddock said, somewhat guiltily. "What next?"

"Have you put the eggs in?"

"Yep."

Tintin thought for a moment. "Okay, next you're going to put the flour mixture over the egg mixture and fold them together."

Haddock was completely lost. "What mixture?"

Tintin laughed. "Okay, I'll help." Closing the cookbook, he walked towards the mixing bowl.

When he saw what was inside, he burst out into peals of laughter.

"Captain!" he gasped, holding up the three eggs. "You have to crack them first!"

"Crack them? What do you mean, 'crack them'?"

"Oh, that was great," sighed Tintin, wiping away a tear of mirth. "You really are clueless."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Haha, he is.

Next chapter soon! If you liked it, **review!**


	7. We'll Vote On It

**Author's Note:** For those of you who informed me that Captain Haddock _would_ know how to crack an egg... well, you're right. It's just a story :)

Anyway, here's the new chapter! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 7**

It took about an hour and a half of confusion and chaos, but they finally finished both the Christmas log and the casserole. After a largely unpleasant breakfast spent listening to Castafiore rattle on about breaking her heels in a street grate, they had cleaned up and sat in the living room to discuss what they should do next. Captain Haddock was completely against doing anything at the moment, and had wanted to go upstairs and take a nap, but nobody was even listening to him. So he had sulked in his armchair and listened to the conversation.

It was still early in the day— too early for the Christmas decorations, it was decided— so Castafiore had suggested that everybody go ice-skating.

"Ice skating!" Haddock had burst out. "That's ridiculous!"

But Tintin stepped in at that point in the conversation, declaring how wonderful and _festive_ it would be to go skating—"especially on Christmas Eve!" -and that had somehow sealed the deal.

An hour later, Captain Haddock, Tintin, Bianca Castafiore, Calculus, Irma and Wagner were at the village skating center. The center was located farther out of the downtown than the Christmas festival, and the buildings were much smaller— two-story brick townhomes, a few cute shops, and the local train station.

Tintin had also decided to bring Snowy, looking ridiculous in his new pink winter coat and satin doggie booties. Haddock had originally vetoed both the dog and the outfit, but Tintin had gone ahead with both.

Tintin had let Snowy loose on the skating rink— much to Snowy's delight— and now, Snowy slid excitedly over the ice, barking and scampering in between the legs of passing skaters.

The sky looked overcast— more overcast than yesterday, a wide gray blanket over the brown, dead world. The air had more of a nip to it, as well; it was even colder than the night before. Haddock had made sure to bundle up in several layers of coats, scarves, and hats, but now he noticed that his feet were cold.

_It's always something, _he noted grumpily._ I spent so much time getting ready, and I'm only wearing one pair of socks. _

But his feet felt much warmer when they were tightly wrapped, by the rink attendant, in a pair of white-and-orange skates. Now, the only problem would be skating.

He wasn't much of an ice skater. It just wasn't his thing. He'd tried doing it before in the ponds around Marlinspike, and failed every time.

_Oh, well. I might as well try._

So as he gingerly stepped onto the rink, Tintin, Castafiore, and the rest all let out a huge cheer.

"Blistering barnacles!" he called, looking back at them. "Don't cheer! Now when I fall, it'll look worse!"

"You won't fall!" shouted Tintin encouragingly, gloved hands cupped around his mouth.

"I will," affirmed the Captain. As he said it, he lost his balance, slipped, and sprawled flat on the ice.

A small ripple of laughter erupted from the sidelines, but quickly caught itself.

"Hold on, I'm coming!" called Tintin, and Haddock heard the sound of his friend sliding towards him on the ice. A pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him back into a standing position. As the Captain wobbled vaguely, trying to regain his equilibrium, he saw Castafiore in the corner of his vision, doing what looked like a perfect figure eight. She did look ridiculous, as usual, in a massive white rabbit-fur coat that made her look more like a snowball than a snowflake, but Haddock had to admit that she was doing a pretty fair job skating.

Although he would never admit it.

"She's good, isn't she, Captain?" commented Tintin, as he helped Haddock back up.

"Hrm… well… maybe," the Captain said, unwilling to show any more enthusiasm on the subject.

"Don't you wish you could look like her right now?" Tintin asked, watching Castafiore's round, furry figure with admiration.

Captain Haddock blinked.

"I— what in the world—" he stammered, reddening.

Tintin laughed. "I mean, don't you wish you could be skating like her?"

_Oh._

"You didn't make that very clear," Haddock said, feeling awkward.

"Sorry, Captain!" Tintin smiled. "I didn't mean to say it quite that way!"

As Tintin skated off gracefully, Haddock couldn't help but feel that he had made a very large and unfortunate social blunder. Although it was partially Tintin's fault, too; he could have been a little clearer.

"Look like her, my foot," the Captain muttered, pushing himself down the side of the rink. And as he looked back at Castafiore, he decided that he was very content with himself, just the way that he was.

_Well, maybe I could stand to be a bit better. _As it was, he still had to grip the rink wall as he went along for support, and that wasn't very fun.

_All right, _he decided. _I don't need to be as good as Castafiore, but I'll at least get off of this wall. For heaven's sake, even Wagner and Irma are better than I am!_

Captain Haddock had this vague idea that everybody else at the skating rink had grown up in some distant, snowy country, where they'd practiced skating every day since they were five. Why did he have to be so bad at it, when everybody else glided effortlessly over the ice? It just wasn't fair.

_Okay, I'll try. But if it's too hard, I'll stop._

He took a tentative step forward…

…and fell flat on the ground again. He tried to pick himself up, but the ice was too slippery. "Billions of blue blistering barnacles in a thundering typhoon!" he barked. He was past irritated; he was past annoyed. He was angry.

"Poor Captain!"

He froze when he heard the sound. _Not her, please, not her_, he prayed silently.

"Poor, poor Captain Hassock! Look at yourself, on the ground like that!"

Yep, it was her. There would be no way around it. He looked up in time to see the giant, furry snowball herself skating towards him, a look of motherly concern on her face.

_Why does she always have to notice when embarrassing things happen to me? _Haddock complained silently.

"You big baby!" she chortled, bending down to help him up. Reluctantly, he accepted the help, mainly because he was pretty sure that he would've stayed there for another hour had not Tintin or Castafiore made the offer.

"You poor, deluded creature!" Castafiore sang, helping the Captain to his feet. "You don't want me to teach you how to skate, do you? Ahahaha!"

Haddock stood up, shakily brushing off his clothes with gloved hands. "I— er— don't think so, Signora," he said, hoping she wouldn't press it, and pretty sure that she would.

"Nonsense, Captain Hitchcock! Take my hand, and I'll show you how it's done." Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Haddock's hand and began to slide over the ice.

"No, thank you, Signora… er, Castafiore!" he sputtered. "No need!" He could already feel his legs giving way under the weight of his body, and he expected to fall at any moment.

But surprisingly, he didn't fall. As Bianca firmly held his hand in hers, he felt a calming, reassuring steadiness. _Actually, this isn't that bad! _he realized, feeling pleased with himself.

It was annoying that he had to hold somebody else's hand like a two-year-old child, especially Castafiore's. But after several laps around the rink, his legs began to get steadier and steadier, and he realized, _Wow, I'm having fun! I'm really having fun!_

He felt pretty sure he could handle the rink by himself now. Pushing away from Castafiore slightly, he said, "Signora, thank you for your help… but, er…"

He felt the motion stop. Bianca looked towards him, looking slightly flushed. He couldn't tell if she was annoyed or exhilarated, but, knowing Castafiore, she was probably annoyed.

"But?" she asked, pursing her lips.

"But I think I can, well, handle it on my own now." It was an innocent enough request, and he hoped she wouldn't be offended.

Castafiore opened her mouth wide. "My good man—"

"Wooah! Wooah!"

Haddock and Castafiore both looked in the direction of the sound. It was Snowy, spread flat on the ice, legs splayed in all directions. His coat, Haddock noted, had come untied, and one of the booties was missing.

"The poor thing!" Castafiore exclaimed. "Oh, how terrible!"

Seconds later, she was pumping her way across the ice to get to Snowy. Haddock let out a long breath, watching her go. _That was lucky! I was really about to get it there!_

_Finally, I can skate on my own now._

The first lap he did around the rink was ten times easier, fun even. He was a bit wobbly on the corners, but all in all, he felt like a professional. Especially considering how bad he'd been when he started only an hour ago.

/

When they walked through the front doors of Marlinspike that evening, feeling slightly tired (especially Haddock, whose legs were burning like crazy), Nestor emerged from the cellar, carrying the annual boxes of Christmas decorations.

When he saw them, he stopped and put the boxes down.

"Nestor!" the Captain called, walking towards his butler. "Do you need any help with those, old chap?"

Truth be told, Captain Haddock had never been gladder to see his butler than he was now. Castafiore's earlier good mood had completely vanished around the time they left the skating rink, and the Captain had ended up sitting next to her on the car ride home, listening to her rant about how opera was losing the public's interest. He'd tried to stay out of the conversation as much as possible. But the trouble was that, besides Irma and Wagner (who didn't really count, because they were basically mute), Haddock was the only other person in the car.

So he'd had to nod every so often, and say, "That's terrible," if she looked upset, and "That's horrible," if she looked even more upset. Unfortunately, they'd been caught in rush-hour holiday traffic on the way back, and the drive had been about twenty minutes longer than usual.

Needless to say, he was glad to be back at Marlinspike.

"I think it's taken care of," Nestor replied, bringing the Captain back to reality.

"Are you sure?" he asked. The idea of carrying boxes in the cellar seemed appealing, when he compared it to the fate that would probably befall him if he stayed upstairs with Castafiore. "I'd really like to help, to get away from, uh…" Haddock gestured towards Bianca. "She's not in the best of moods."

Nestor hesitated. "Well, there are a few more—"

"There you are, Chester!" Bianca Castafiore shouted, storming towards them from behind. "Did it really have to take you that long? This kind of behavior is inexcusable! Utterly inexcusable!"

Haddock rolled his eyes at Nestor, as if to say, _This is what I'm talking about._

/

Castafiore was in such a bad mood that the Christmas decorating would have been a complete flop, if not for the Christmas tree.

It turned out that Nestor had already set up not only the tree, but the fir garlands, wreathes, ribbons, and the small sprig of mistletoe that they hung from the arch to the dining room. This was no small task, both because of Marlinspike's sheer size, and the fact that Nestor liked to put up as many decorations as possible. (He made an entry every year for the Most Beautifully Decorated Homes award, and had won twice.)

The tree was beautiful. It rose almost all the way to the ceiling of the two-story living room, and even without the ornaments, it was a masterpiece of Mother Nature. It was…

"It's simply magnificent!" Castafiore had sung, clasping her hands together in exultation.

That was when the trouble had begun.

Castafiore had been convinced that the best way to accentuate the tree's natural beauty would be to cover it in gold and pink ornaments. "It's in all of the opera houses," she had assured them, "as a tribute to the art of fine music!" According to her books, the tree could only be done justice if it was covered, from the proverbial head to toe, in glittering gold and pink ornaments, stuffed painted peacocks, gold leaf ribbons, and French horns. "We can get them from the local band," she'd explained, as if this couldn't possibly be a problem.

While Captain Haddock had wanted to vomit at the thought of such a tree, his ideas were much simpler. He envisioned a Christmas tree with minimal decorations, perhaps a few ornaments and a star, to let the beauty of the actual tree shine through. In fact, he would have been perfectly happy to leave the tree exactly as it was, without any decorations at all.

Calculus had proposed a Christmas tree that was covered in various roses and tropical flowers, with a few palm trees scattered around the room. Completely oblivious to the appalled expressions around him, he continued that "It would be the most scientifically pleasing, since what we see here is, after all, a tree."

Tintin, ever the diplomat, had wanted to come to a compromise. His color scheme for the tree would be red and green. There would be lots of ornaments and some ribbon, not too much, but enough to give the tree a little sparkle. "Essentially," he'd said, "that's what everybody wants, right?"

Haddock had noted that Tintin had forgotten to incorporate Calculus' proposal. Of course, everybody hated Calculus' proposal, but it just seemed fair to point out Tintin's oversight.

"Well, then, we'll put some roses on the tree," Tintin had concluded. "Agreed?"

"We'll vote on it," Castafiore had said, grimly.

/

Unsurprisingly, Castafiore won out in the end. Despite Haddock's desperate protests that it would be ugly, and then that he didn't have enough money for it, she somehow garnered enough votes for the plan to be carried through. The Captain secretly suspected that Irma and Wagner had voted for Castafiore— after all, who else would they vote for?

Nestor wearily began making preparations for buying the decorations, while Castafiore trotted off with him to make sure everything was carried out to her liking. Calculus went off to the lab, for no apparent reason. Irma and Wagner went upstairs.

Captain Haddock and Tintin sat across from each other in front of the fireplace. For a moment, they just stared at one another, neither able to think of anything to say, nor feeling the need to say anything. Finally, Haddock let his head sag, and sighed wearily.

"I can't believe that Castafiore's... design... if you can call it that…"

Tintin laughed softly. "Yeah."

"I guess it doesn't really matter," Haddock mused. "It's only this once. As long as that cachinnating cockatoo doesn't come back next year," he added, although the insult sounded forced.

"It won't be that bad."

Suddenly, Haddock sat up, eyes widening. "Tintin! Can you believe that it's Christmas tomorrow?"

"I believe it," said Tintin, smiling.

"I mean, but Christmas!" Haddock ran a hand through his hair. "It's actually Christmas tomorrow! Blistering barnacles, I've been waiting all year for this day!"

When Tintin didn't answer, the Captain looked out of the window. It was dark now, and he could see the reflection of the glowing fireplace in the glass. But the ground looked just as bare as ever.

"I wonder if we'll get any snow," Haddock said miserably.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Christmas tomorrow! Yay! (Not for real, I mean in the book. lol) And be looking forward to their Christmas party. That's going to be great.

Next chapter soon! As always, **review** if you liked it!


	8. Flamingos?

**Author's Note: **I was _this_ close to not finishing this chapter in time. But... I got through it! Yay! *claps*

In order to get into the Christmas spirit, I suggest a mug of hot cocoa and a comfortable chair to read this in. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Captain Haddock cracked his eyes open.

_It's Christmas!_

He sat up in bed, propping himself up with a few pillows. He rubbed his eyes and sighed contentedly, looking at the dresser in front of him.

The room was bathed in a bright, golden glow. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and he could hear the sound of a woodpecker outside.

_Did it snow?_

He didn't care if he had just woken up. That didn't matter now. Shoving the blankets aside, he flung himself from the bed and dashed to the window. _Is there snow? Please let there be snow! _

He bent over the windowsill, desperately searching the ground for snow, any sign of snow.

_Even an inch would be good enough! Just an inch! A half inch! A quarter!_

But the front drive was still brown, just like it had been for the past month.

"Blistering barnacles, can't we at least get snow on Christmas?" he moaned.

With a loud clunking sound, Haddock's bedroom door swung open. The Captain turned around just in time to see Tintin walking through the doorway, looking neat in a freshly ironed fairisle pullover and khakis.

"Good morning, Captain!" said Tintin cheerfully. Then, his smile disappearing, he looked down at Haddock's plaid pajamas critically. "Captain, why aren't you dressed yet?"

The Captain brushed off his clothes self-consciously. "What?"

"Captain, we're leaving for the Christmas service right now! What are you doing, sleeping in like this?"

"Christmas service?" Haddock repeated, completely lost.

"We'll be in the car in five minutes! Don't be late!" called Tintin, rushing out of Haddock's bedroom into the upstairs hallway.

_Christmas service?_

"Blistering barnacles!" the Captain exclaimed, eyes opening wide with realization. "The Christmas service!"

/

"How too hilarious, Captain Paddock!" Castafiore commented breezily, as Haddock sat down in the car. "Forgetting an old tradition like that? What a silly little schoolboy! Ahahaha!"

As usual, it had been the Captain's luck to sit next to Castafiore, even though there were multiple cars in the Christmas service entourage. He had genuinely been hoping to sit in the other car, with Irma and Wagner. He really shouldn't have bothered.

Bianca Castafiore's outfit this morning was, as if it were possible, even more ridiculous than the last two. She was dressed completely in black. Everything about her outfit, from her elbow-length gloves, to her massive dress, to her dark lace veil, was black. _She looks like she'd going to a funeral, _Haddock noted dryly to himself.

"I forgot to set the alarm clock," the Captain mumbled, looking out of the car window. He could hear the engine starting, and the car began to pull out of the front drive.

Noting Tintin's wise silence, the Captain was grateful to his friend for failing to mention that Haddock never used his alarm clock; as a matter of fact, he'd thrown it from his bedroom window about a year ago.

_Well, I can usually count on Tintin to keep me covered._

"It's strange of you to forget that, Captain," admonished Tintin, sounding perfectly serious.

"Indeed?" wondered Castafiore, needlessly. She eyed the Captain with a steely glare. "You really must learn to be more responsible!"

Haddock shifted uncomfortably.

"When did you stop using the alarm clock?" pressed Tintin, without turning around.

The Captain laughed, somewhat awkwardly. "Well… you know…"

_Why is he asking me? I thought he knew!_

"No; what is it?"

"Well, that doesn't really matter!" cut in Castafiore, mercifully. She leaned dangerously close to Haddock, her lacy black dress billowing, her sickly-sweet perfume attacking his senses. "At least he's here now," she said, patting him indulgently on the cheek.

"I— er, can't wait for the Christmas party; can you?" asked Haddock hurriedly, pulling away from Bianca's touch. In actuality, he'd been dreading the Christmas party ever since he learned that Castafiore was going to be involved, but it seemed like a nice way to change the subject.

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Castafiore, treating the Captain to one of her blood-red smiles. "I've taken the liberty to invite some of my— how shall I say— friends! Ahahaha!"

Haddock was stunned. The party had been a subject of fear and trembling for him the past few days, but he certainly hadn't expected anything this bad. Really, he could only imagine what kind of friends Bianca Castafiore palled around with. He didn't want to imagine.

"Signora, er, how many… friends… are you bringing, exactly?"

Bianca laughed airily. "Don't worry, it'll only be a few!"

Haddock would have dearly loved to make some sort of sarcastic remark, but at the last second decided not to say anything. After all, you never wanted to risk offending the Milanese Nightingale.

/

The dark spires of the old Gothic cathedral loomed ominously over them as they trudged over the brown grass. Castafiore led the small group, looking like a nun in her all-black outfit, followed by Haddock and Tintin, followed by the rest.

The sky was dark and heavy, and a cold wind had picked up over the valley. It felt like a storm was coming on, Haddock noted, and he hoped that it meant snow.

_Lots and lots of snow._

"How long is this service going to be?" Haddock asked Tintin.

"An hour?"

"You're not sure?"

Tintin shook his head. "An hour, probably."

The front doors of the cathedral opened, and the sound of choirs and hymns echoed out in the church courtyard. Everybody walked inside, and were immediately overcome by the smell of trees, pinecones, and peppermint.

The inside of the old church was flooded with warm, golden light. Rows upon rows of sitting villagers stretched all the way from the back of the sanctuary to the altar, behind which was a vast set of brass organ pipes.

_Blistering barnacles, I haven't been inside of a church since… well, last Christmas!_

The Captain, wondering where the peppermint smell was coming from, looked to his left and noticed a massive table, covered with candy canes, desserts and various other holiday-themed sweets.

His mouth began to water.

_After all, I haven't had any breakfast this morning. Why not?_

He was beginning to take a few tentative steps towards the table, when somebody grabbed his arm and started leading him towards a nearby pew.

"Captain!" Tintin was hissing. "That's not for us! It's for the children when they get back from Sunday school!" He sat the Captain down next to Castafiore, then sat himself on the other side, crossed his legs, and began to read the church bulletin.

"But I haven't eaten anything since yesterday!" Haddock protested.

"Too bad, Captain! I'm not about to let you make a fool of yourself in church!" said Tintin, without looking up from the bulletin.

"Hmph… well…" Haddock crossed his arms and looked at the choir, which was still going in full swing.

At first, it was hard to concentrate because he wanted the dessert so much, but eventually he was able to pay more attention to the choir. His eyes closed halfway, and his head began to sway from side to side in time to the music.

_Wait a second… haven't I heard that song before?_

"Shepherds shake off your drowsy sleep, rise and leave your silly sheep!"

_No! Not that song again! _

"Angels from heaven around them singing, tidings of great joy are bringing!"

_Why are they doing this to me?_

"Shepherds a chorus come and swell, sing Noel, oh sing Noel!"

Fortunately, the song was over, and Haddock let out a long sigh of relief. The next second, he realized that everybody around him was standing up, and he decided he probably should do that too.

"Why are we standing up?" he whispered to Tintin.

"It's part of the service order," Tintin whispered back. "You should know how— hark the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn king!— this service goes because— peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled!— we'll talk later, okay? Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies!"

Deciding that it would be a good idea not to continue the conversation, Haddock fumbled for the song number in his hymnal and began to sing.

/

After what seemed like hours of singing, but was probably about fifteen minutes, everybody sat down again. The Captain was grateful that it hadn't gone any longer: he had been pretty sure he was going to pass out towards the end. It was probably a mixture of the fact that he hadn't had food in hours, and that he'd had next to no sleep the night before. Snowy had kept him up until one in the morning, first trying to get Haddock to take him outside, and then trying to get Haddock to play fetch with him on the bed. Neither ploy had worked; the only reason the Captain had gotten any sleep at all was that he had finally risen from bed and kicked Snowy out of his room. Literally.

As he settled down in the chair again, he found that his eyelids were fluttering with exhaustion, and his head was beginning to loll to the side. Not to mention the growing pain in his stomach from lack of eating; it growled loudly about twice every minute. And as if that couldn't possibly get any worse, Castafiore had to glare angrily at him _every single time_.

The half-hour sermon was interesting: something about the Advent and birth of Christ, but Haddock found it strange that when the preacher first mentioned the 'nativity scene', Castafiore started smiling to herself as if she'd just had a brilliant idea. He really didn't want to know where that one was going, but he was pretty sure that he would find out soon.

There was a prayer and a few more songs, and then the service was over. Captain Haddock stood up and stretched, yawning loudly. It felt good to stand after sitting for so long. The entire sanctuary began to fill up with the sound of chatter and conversation, in the way that an auditorium always does after a lecture.

"A wonderful way to begin our Christmas morning, don't you think, Captain?" asked Tintin, cheerfully.

"Very nice," remarked Haddock, suddenly remembering the dessert table. He turned around and eyed it wolfishly. "Very nice."

"I know what you're thinking, Captain," said Tintin suspiciously.

Haddock turned around quickly, trying to look casual. "You do?"

"It was that part where he mentioned… oh, what was it now that he said? I could tell it was rubbing you the wrong way. Something about nativity scenes being shown in public."

"Nativity scenes?" Haddock wondered, thoroughly confused. He'd been expecting Tintin to say something about the dessert, but it seemed his friend had something entirely different on his mind.

"Yeah, I was just wondering what you were thinking about that. You had this weird look when he mentioned it. I noticed that the Signora looked a little odd too, as if she were laughing or something."

_Weird look?_

_Castafiore, laughing?_

Then it hit him. The Captain burst out into hysterical laughter, almost doubling over with the effort. It was several minutes before he could regain his composure, during which Tintin had adopted a look that had grown increasingly irritated. "Captain, I'm not quite sure I see why this is so funny…" he began.

"No, no," Haddock protested, between fits of laughter. "You're completely missing it. I guess I must have looked that way because of Castafiore. Actually," he added sheepishly, "I wasn't even paying that much attention."

"Wait, so… you looked like that because of Castafiore? But why was she smiling?" asked Tintin. "What was so funny?"

Haddock wiped tears from his eyes and straightened up, the laughter gone. "To be honest," he said, "I'm not quite sure."

/

Captain Haddock got his answer as they were pulling into Marlinspike's front drive.

"Thundering typhoons, what_ is_ that?" he breathed, leaning forward. "Nestor, could you drive a little closer?"

Directly in front of Marlinspike's main stairs was a full-fledged nativity scene, looking like something straight from underneath the Christmas tree. A giant inflatable house had been set up, topped by a single glass star. Underneath its plastic eaves sat about ten people, dressed in full Biblical costume.

Real people.

"Who put this here?" demanded Haddock, looking furiously around the car. "Was it you?" he asked Castafiore.

Bianca laughed loudly. "I thought of it during the service!" she sang. "Rather clever of me, don't you think? I thought to myself, 'What better way to cheer up the old mariner, than with a nativity scene? I knew you simply adored all those old Christmas traditions," she added with a benevolent smile.

"But…" Haddock sputtered. "Those are real people! What did you pay them to come up here and do this?"

But Castafiore never had any time to answer. Tintin burst out into slightly horrified laughter, cutting her off.

'What is it?" asked Haddock, grabbing the back of Tintin's chair and leaning forward.

Then he saw them.

"Blistering barnacles!" he exclaimed, turning around to face Bianca. "Don't tell me you hired flamingos, too!"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yep. That's Bianca Castafiore for you.

Next chapter soon! As always, review!


	9. The Golden Scissors

**Author's Note:** I present to you: the next installment of a Very Castafiore Christmas! Wow, writing a book can be h-a-r-d. It's taking me a long time to get these chapters done. But, I had a fun time. :) Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Captain Haddock was very bored. It was strange: out of all the days that Castafiore had been here, he'd never expected Christmas Day to be boring. But it just _was._

It was 1:23 in the afternoon. He'd been to the Christmas service, gone back to Marlinspike, and tried fruitlessly to argue with Castafiore about the nativity scene in his front yard. When this failed utterly, he gave up and made some ramen noodles for himself (Nestor was too busy cooking for the dinner to make lunch, declaring that for once they'd have to fend for themselves). He'd even taken Snowy out for a pee, which was something he never usually did, and then, finding that he was hungry again, ate an egg roll.

He was _still _bored.

_Where's Castafiore, anyway? _he wondered. The Captain hadn't seen her for a few hours at least, which was strange in itself. Normally, he felt as if he couldn't get away from her.

His answer came in the parlor, a place he'd been trying to avoid since last night, when it was confirmed that Bianca's disgusting 'master plan' for the Christmas tree had begun preparations. He just didn't want to see it, although he knew that he could only avoid it for so long: the Christmas party would be held in the parlor, after all.

As he pushed open the double doors to the parlor, he saw something he certainly hadn't been expecting: a full-fledged construction scaffold, surrounding the Christmas tree. About four or five workers had been brought from the village, along with truckloads of ornaments, and they scurried up and down the scaffolding, placing ornaments and hanging stuffed peacocks. The parlor was abuzz with activity: Bianca Castafiore, trotting back and forth over the marble floors, shouting orders about how to decorate and where to place each ornament; Professor Calculus, who was placing vases of roses and pink feathers around the room; and Tintin, carefully reading a sheet of paper.

Now that the tree was covered in scaffolding, he realized just how tall it really was: probably about five or six times taller than the Captain himself. Marlinspike Hall was a tall building, after all, and the parlor was an exceptionally tall room. And the tree rose almost all the way to the top of the room.

The crew seemed to be working in stages: starting at the bottom and working their way up. The first third was covered in so many ornaments, stuffed birds, ribbons, and musical instruments that Haddock couldn't see the green of the tree at all. At the very base of the tree, Castafiore was lecturing a worker about how to make golden rocking-chairs and stuffed doves look "whimsical". When he caught a glimpse of the worker's dazed, vacant expression, Captain Haddock rolled his eyes. Obviously it would have been more appropriate to bring in an interior designer, not a builder from the local contractor's office.

Picking his way through the decorating debris, Haddock walked over to Tintin.

"Hello, Captain," said Tintin, without looking up from his paper.

Haddock poked his head around to view the paper, which was covered in various drawings that seemed to have something to do with the decorations— _part of Nestor's plan, perhaps?_ "What are you looking at?" he wondered aloud, looking at a drawing of a fir garland.

"Something Nestor and Castafiore worked on last night,' Tintin explained. "They were up until the morning, drawing up plans for the decorations."

"I can't imagine that went well," Haddock smirked. "Bianca Castafiore, working _with_ somebody? Now that's something I have yet to see."

Tintin laughed. "It couldn't have happened any other way, because everything has to go through Nestor first."

Then Haddock caught up to the other thing Tintin had just said. "Wait. You said that they worked on it until the morning? Just drawing pictures of Christmas trees?" The Captain was no expert on decorating, but that seemed like overkill.

"Well… it wasn't just that. I mean, they did _everything_. They ordered the appetizers, the drinks, the waiters… you name it. And they wrote up the guest list and called everybody."

The Captain was stunned. "What do you mean, 'guest list'? I thought that she was only inviting a few friends!"

"Um, well, let's just say that she invited a lot of people," said Tintin. "I looked at the list."

Haddock felt like screaming about the injustice of it all, right then and there. About how terrible it was that Castafiore was invading their house. About how horribly unfair it was that they still didn't have any snow. About how unjust it was that absolutely _nothing_ was going his way.

But at the last second, he decided to restrain himself.

"Right," Haddock said, grimly. "Call me when the party's over, will you?"

/

The party would start in three hours. Until then, Captain Haddock had a mission: to wrap Tintin's present.

It had always been the Captain's tradition to give (and receive) presents on the day after Christmas. He wasn't quite sure why, but he'd liked it better that way for as long as he could remember. Maybe he liked it because it ensured that Christmas wasn't all about the presents, and he could enjoy all of the other festivities, with gifts out of the way.

_I'll give it to Tintin tomorrow morning, _Haddock thought, with anticipation.

He went into the telephone room in the back of the house, pretty sure that most of the gift-wrapping materials would be in there. He searched for, and successfully found, three rolls of paper, some ribbon, and tape. After taking a quick peek of the parlor to make sure Tintin was still busy, he crept back up the grand staircase, walked into his bedroom and carefully locked the door.

He uncovered the false bottom of his wardrobe— a trick he'd been waiting to use for a long time— and took out the precious painting of Marlinspike. It was still in the box, so he couldn't look at it quite yet. But fortunately, the box shape would make it easier to wrap.

Settling down on the carpeting, he arranged the materials in front of him: the gift wrapping paper, the ribbon, the tape, and the present. He chose the paper that he liked the most, a simple brown print that said "Ho! Ho! Ho!" on it in silver (a bit tacky, perhaps, but the other two were worse, so the Captain figured he was winning).

He really had no idea how to wrap a present, but he was pretty sure it couldn't be _that _hard. So, without further ado, he placed the painting on top of the paper, and folded the entire roll of paper over the box.

_That doesn't look quite right._

He set the paper aside, put the box on the ground, and put the roll on top of it.

_That's not really working, either._

He decided that he must be missing something. What was it? He looked carefully over his supplies. Paper, ribbon, tape…

_Scissors! I need scissors! How could I forget that?_

Filled with new purpose and determination, the Captain looked around his room, in every drawer and desk, under the wardrobe, and under his bed. No scissors.

When the search for scissors in Tintin's bedroom yielded no results, he went down to the telephone room again. He was surprised to find that there were absolutely no scissors in the telephone room (either that, or he didn't know the right places to look). He walked to the kitchen. He had a vague idea that Nestor would keep scissors around the kitchen for cutting meat and pastry, but he didn't find anything there, either. He wasn't about to look in the parlor, and he didn't feel like going down to the cellar.

With an exasperated sigh, he stumbled back up the grand staircase. He was about to hang it all and just rip the gift paper with his hands. But as he opened the door to his room, he remembered the golden scissors that Irma had lost a few years ago, and decided that Castafiore's bedroom might be a good place to look.

_I don't see why not, as long as nobody notices._

He pattered down the hallway and pushed open the double doors of the Charles I room. The fluffy blue curtains were closed, a good sign that Castafiore was away at the moment. Irma was gone, too, from her customary sewing chair, and Wagner was nowhere to be seen.

Making sure that his every move was silent, he quietly searched every corner of the room. No table, desk, or bureau was left unnoticed (except for Castafiore's dresser; he had no desire to look in there). After perhaps fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, he suddenly noticed the oversized secretary desk in the back of the room. _Why didn't I see that? _he wondered, walking over and searching through its drawers.

With a little "Aha!" of triumph, he located a pair of scissors in the bottom drawer. _Finally! _

He couldn't tell if it was the same pair that Irma had lost so many years ago, but it certainly looked similar. The same gold finish and carved design.

_Nice and sharp, too, _he thought with glee. _This will make Tintin's present a snap._

He turned around and began making his way towards the doors, when he suddenly froze.

He could hear the sound of somebody walking— crisp, sharp footsteps, vague at first, but becoming louder and louder.

_No. Not now, please not now, _he prayed, squeezing his eyes shut in desperation.

"Signora?" somebody was calling, a woman's voice. "Signora, are you in there?"

_Irma. It's Irma. She's coming and there's nothing I can do about it._

"I went to the village to have your coat tailored, Madame," Irma called. The Captain looked frantically at the doors, just in time to see a pair of polished high heels appear underneath. He knew Irma would open the doors any second now.

There was no time to give it a second thought. Haddock barreled towards the bathroom door, grabbing the handle and flinging it forward. He dashed inside of the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, panting.

In the same moment, he realized that the bathroom lights were on.

And that somebody at the far end of the bathroom was staring at her reflection, frozen, in the vanity mirror, a pink powder puff suspended in the air.

Or rather, she was staring at the man in the reflection, who was leaned forward slightly, panting, brandishing a pair of golden scissors.

Castafiore screamed.

It was a bloodcurdling shriek, long and impossibly high pitched. It was a shriek of absolute, abject terror.

Irma burst through the bathroom door, whacking Haddock in the back of the head. She ran to Castafiore's side just in time for the Milanese Nightingale to swoon into her arms, still dramatically clutching the powder puff in one hand.

His ears still ringing from the blow, the Captain looked at Irma through dazed, uncomprehending eyes. Irma stared back at him furiously, accusingly. And then she looked down and saw the scissors in his hand.

And then the bathroom mirror shattered and fell to pieces on the floor.

/

"That was a fail, Captain," said Tintin with a laugh. "A complete and utter fail."

They were sitting at the breakfast table, eating a light dinner that Nestor had kindly prepared for them, even though he'd been busy at the moment preparing endive boats for the Christmas party. After the accident in the bathroom, Captain Haddock had apologized, swept up the shattered glass, and left before it got worse. He didn't know what Castafiore and Irma were doing right now and frankly, he didn't care.

"All I did was get the scissors!" Haddock protested, bringing a spoonful of microwaved cheddar soup to his mouth.

"Maybe, but did you really have to run into the bathroom like that? I mean, all you had to do was tell Irma what was going on. You realize that, right? That you could have made that situation a whole lot better?"

"Well, I wasn't really thinking about it," the Captain mumbled.

"You know, the Signora actually thought you were trying to murder her," Tintin said, smiling.

"How do you know?"

"I read her mind."

"No, really."

Tintin sighed. "I was there when she woke up, Captain."

"Oh," replied Haddock lamely. The he thought of something and brightened, leaning forward over the table. "D'you think she'll cancel the Christmas party? You know, being traumatized for life and all?"

Tintin rolled his eyes. "Of course not. She wouldn't cancel that party for anything."

"Oh. I was hoping…."

"You shouldn't have bothered. Believe me, Castafiore will be herself again in an hour." Tintin checked his watch. "Just in time for the party."

* * *

**Author's Note: **They have such funny conversations. :)

Next chapter soon! As always, **review** if you liked it!


	10. A Walking Fashion Disaster

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay; I've been busy all weekend. But anyway, here it is- the Christmas party! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Three hours later, Captain Haddock could barely believe that he was still in his own house.

Through Castafiore's direction, the mansion had been transformed into a glittering celebrity gala. A full-fledged jazz band had been set up on a temporary stage in the parlor, playing classic holiday favorites like 'Jingle Bell Rock' and 'Happy Xmas (War is Over)' (not, by any means, the Captain's favorite music— he hated jazz— but it was Castafiore's party, not his).

The behemoth Christmas tree had been finished shortly after Bianca's bathroom accident, and the workers had been quickly paid and shipped back to the village. When Haddock looked at it, he was reminded more of a giant pink and golden triangle than a tree, but he had to admit that it _did _look stunning. In an overdone sort of way.

All decorations had been finished just in time for the party to begin. At 3:45, the guests arrived, all twenty-six of them: the counts and countesses, lords and ladies, and dukes and duchesses of the music world. Castafiore somehow even managed to snag the queen of some distant European country, who arrived in full regalia with at least ten personal attendants.

By 4:00 in the evening, Bianca Castafiore's Christmas party was in full swing.

The Captain had meant to wear a regular suit, but Tintin had reminded him five minutes before the party started that he _did_, after all, have an admiralty uniform. At the time, Haddock had felt uncomfortable and even ridiculous in it, but now, surrounded by a glittering crowd of royalty, he was pretty sure that he needed the extra bit of credibility. As he looked out over the crowd, he spotted Tintin, sharply dressed in a dark blue suit and talking with some diamond-encrusted society matron or other.

The lights in the parlor were dimmed slightly to create more of an ambient mood, and wax candles dotted the room. The candles, combined with the sparkling tree and various holiday miscellanea, all came together for an undeniably magnificent effect. The lights of the chandelier reflected off stemmed wineglasses (polished to crystal perfection by Nestor) and the parlor windows, which had been left drawn even though there wasn't any snow, or much of a view to look at.

The party, Haddock had to admit, was pretty well put together. A massive champagne tower had been constructed in the center of the room, which most of the guests seemed to be clustered around, talking and laughing politely about nothing in particular. There were several conversation spots scattered around the room: a table adorned with a silver tray of caviar-filled brioche rounds; another sported carrot roulades with radish and goat cheese. None of it seemed particularly appealing, but the Captain was willing to put up with anything that didn't involve the Milanese Nightingale embarrassing herself, or him.

Captain Haddock had never been much of a party person. He enjoyed cocoa and board games with Tintin, or perhaps the Professor, and he loved inviting over old friends like Chester or Chang. But this party, to say the least, wasn't his style. For the most part he stood in the corner, taking sips from an unidentifiable liquid, looking out over the crowd, and hoping that nobody noticed him.

It wasn't that bad, he had to admit. At least not yet. He had certainly been expecting a party to remember (and not in a good way), but he figured that if he could stay in his corner until it was over, ignoring Castafiore and avoiding contact with her society friends, he could come out unscathed. Maybe.

Feeling strange and out of place, he looked for Tintin, and spotted his young friend on the sofa talking with the Professor; apparently he'd gotten tired of Castafiore's friends already. He walked towards the pair, glass in hand, and sat down on the couch with Calculus, opposite Tintin.

"Hello, Captain," smiled Tintin. "Bored of the party already?"

"Am I!" exclaimed Haddock wearily. _To be honest, I was bored with the party before it even started. _"You know this kind of thing really isn't my taste," he added.

"I know."

"Snow? Really?" cried Calculus, leaping from the sofa. Before either could stop him, the Professor was making his way towards the window.

"He's going to be sorely disappointed," said the Captain. "No snow to be seen for miles. I've read the weather reports. They predict bucket loads of the stuff, of course, just like they've been doing for the past month. It's not worth the effort trying to believe them."

Tintin laughed and crossed his arms. Suddenly, a skittering of paws sounded on the marble floor, and Snowy appeared between them, panting and clutching a rubber ball between his jaws.

Tintin reached down and grabbed the ball, then threw it to the far side of the room. They both watched the ball's course as it sailed forward, then stuck in an unfortunate woman's styled updo. She immediately gave a little shriek of horror and started clawing at her head.

"That's too bad," chuckled Tintin. "I hope nobody notices that I threw the ball."

"Oh, you're terrible."

Tintin threw his hands in the air. "I would help, but then they'd know I was the one who did it. No, it's better this way."

As Snowy pattered off, Haddock looked down into his wineglass. "By the way, what is this stuff I've been drinking?"

Tintin peered at the liquid. "Riesling, I think. You should know that, Captain. You're the alcoholic here, not me!"

Haddock shrugged. "I just drink Loch Lomond. I was never into all that fancy stuff."

High-pitched, operatic laughter suddenly rang out shrilly from the crowd, and Haddock looked up from his glass to see Castafiore trotting towards him, followed by two friends of hers.

_Please, not her. Not now._

Captain Haddock felt as if he was actually watching her clothes get weirder and weirder as the days progressed. Her outfit, it seemed, had been coordinated to match the gold-and-pink theme. She wore a massive, shimmering golden dress covered in a layer of gauzy pinkish lace, gold-colored gloves, and a golden tiara on her perfectly coiffured hair. Pink-dyed pearls hung around her neck, pink ornaments dangled from her ears— _ornaments? What?_— and Haddock had no doubt that her shoes were also either pink or gold, although he couldn't see them at the moment. The Captain knew nothing about style, but he was convinced that this woman was a walking fashion disaster.

"I said she would be herself again," Tintin pointed out.

Tintin was right: Bianca Castafiore was herself again. More than herself. Tonight, she was larger than life.

"Ah, Captain Hassock and Tintin!" she sang. "My dear, dear friends!"

_Too late, _thought Haddock. He and Tintin both stood up to greet the other guests.

"I simply must introduce you to my friends, Countess Sophie, of, er…"

A woman with a ridiculous white hat and tailored dress stepped forward. "Sophie, of Northmead," she interrupted, politely extending her hand and looking away.

Tintin quickly kissed the woman's hand and said that he was delighted.

Determined not to embarrass himself, Captain Haddock slowly bowed down and kissed the Countess' gloved hand, then straightened again. "It's an— er— honor," he said, wondering what social mistake he'd made this time.

If he had made one, everybody was too polite to mention it. Castafiore gestured towards a tall blond man on her other side. "And the famous artist, Byram Lashley. Of course you've heard of him."

"Of… of course," replied Haddock, shaking Lashley's hand. "Delighted."

"Delighted, too," said Lashley. "Tell me, what do you think of my latest series?"

_Latest series? _Captain Haddock had absolutely no idea what this man did for a living (except that it was something artistic), let alone what his latest series could possibly be. "I— er— found it confusing," stammered Haddock. It was a relatively safe answer, given that it could be taken multiple ways, and that it basically summed up his feelings about art in general.

"Confusing? How?"

_This is why I hate big parties._

The Captain had to think fast. "I—I thought the colors were a bit strange," he said, unable to think of anything else.

"Colors?" Lashley laughed politely. "You must be mistaken, my good man."

"Oh?"

Castafiore moved a step closer to the group. "My dear sir," she explained to Lashley, "the poor Captain is— how shall I say? Ahahaha!— a bit of a sea-dog! He has a heart of gold, but can be a bit… er, uneducated when it comes to the fine arts."

Haddock was too used to this kind of treatment by Castafiore to be offended. Anyway, it had saved him from trying to explain himself, which would almost certainly have ended in tragedy.

Either one.

Lashley nodded sagely and looked at Haddock. "I see," he replied, as if Bianca had just explained the mysteries of the universe.

Haddock resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

Tintin gave the Captain a reproachful look, as if to say, _you should've been more vague. _Or perhaps he was saying, _You shouldn't have had so much wine._

Castafiore leaned in towards the Captain, her ornament earrings dangling dangerously. "You see, my dear, Sir Lashley here is a composer. He writes arias for me to sing. Why, I believe you confused the poor man by telling him that the 'colors were strange'."

"Fascinating," said Haddock dryly.

Bianca leaned back and looked over the small group with an indulgent smile. "Lashley's arias really are quite beautiful," she declared. "But of course, nothing will be quite like my— Ahahaha!— magnum opus, the Jewel Song, from _Faust_!"

_No._

Captain Haddock knew precisely where Castafiore was going with this.

Tintin was smiling knowingly, as if he had expected this all along. Haddock gave him a look that he hoped conveyed the right meaning: to stop smiling.

Bianca turned towards Countess Sophie. "My dear Countess, have you heard my darling Jewel Song? It simply sends me into ecstasies! You know, the one that brought me to the lofty heights of fame?"

The Countess nodded politely and muttered something indistinguishable about carrot roulades, then slipped off. _At least the woman knows what's good for her_, thought Haddock. _I won't be so lucky._

"Captain, you've heard my song, haven't you?" Castafiore asked, turning towards Haddock. "It's simply divine, don't you think?"

Captain Haddock swallowed. "Wonderful," he choked out.

Castafiore spread her arms wide and looked heavenward. "Ah! The muses are calling for me! I simply must sing!"

The Captain braced himself for the storm.

Castafiore's voice started out on a deep note, low and resonant. Slowly, it slid higher and higher until it became a terrifying, inhuman screech. "Ah, my beauty past compare!" she began, her voice fluttering like a bird on the highest notes.

The noise of the crowd died down suddenly, until Castafiore's voice was the only thing to be heard in the room. The jazz band stopped in the middle of "Here Comes Santa Claus", instruments cutting off suddenly. They knew who their paycheck was coming from.

Captain Haddock looked down at his glass and felt it vibrating slightly. _Oh please, not again_, he thought, remembering the mess in the bathroom.

"These jewels bright I wear!" sang Castafiore, running a gloved hand through her strings of pearls. "Was I ever Margarita?"

Her captive audience listened politely, all eyes trained in Bianca's direction.

"Mirror, mirror, come reply!" she warbled, raising a gloved arm dramatically. "Come reply, tell me truly!"

Captain Haddock realized that he'd never heard past this particular part of the song, and as much as he hated it, he was interested to know how it ended.

But Castafiore never got to the end. In that same instant, the double doors of the parlor swung open, and in came two footmen bearing a massive ice sculpture on a cart.

_Blistering barnacles, that thing is huge!_

Castafiore stopped mid-sentence, looking pale and shocked, as all heads turned to look at the sculpture, which was making its way towards the center of the room. It was an immense, glistening…

"Flamingo?" wondered Captain Haddock, aloud, and he could hear people around the room making the same comment. He immediately thought of Castafiore's nativity scene with its flamingos, and could only assume that she had ordered it, but when he looked towards her, she seemed stunned and uncomprehending.

It all went downhill from there.

Castafiore turned a light shade of rose, then red, then flaming crimson.

_This was exactly what I'd been dreading. A full-fledged meltdown. How did I know this would happen? _Anybody, Haddock supposed, would be offended at being upstaged by a frozen flamingo, but as always, there was no moderation where Bianca Castafiore was involved. She wasn't just offended. She was furious.

"Who did this?" she demanded loudly, looking around the room, particularly at the ice sculpture. "Who committed this sacrilege?" Everything was completely silent, except for the odd tinkling of glasses, or shuffling of feet. "Who would dare to attack a poor, weak woman like me?"

Captain Haddock thought it might be a good time to step in. "Signora," he began quietly, "why don't you—"

"Out of the way, my good man!" exclaimed Bianca, shoving him aside with surprising brute force. "You! Nestor!" she screeched, pointing an accusing finger at the unfortunate butler in the corner. "This is your fault!" She trotted towards Nestor angrily, eyes blazing. "If it hadn't been for your carelessness and utter lack of propriety as a butler, dear sir, this would never have happened!"

Then she looked at the two footmen who had brought in the sculpture. "And you two!" she screamed furiously. "What on earth possessed you to bring in this ridiculous…" she gestured angrily towards the sculpture. "This ridiculous monstrosity! You are both fired, starting now!"

As the two footmen left, Castafiore seemed to calm down slightly. After about a minute of this, the hum of the party started up again, and the light sound of polite conversation began to fill the room. The music also picked up, strumming out the opening chords to "Christmas in New Orleans". Bianca walked off to chat with a foreign dignitary, as if nothing had happened, and somebody placed the ice sculpture on a nearby decorative table.

"I'm going out to get some air," said Tintin quietly.

"I think I'll come with you," volunteered Haddock, following his friend towards the coat racks.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Can't wait to post the next chapter! (Minor detail: I just have to write it first.) :P

As always, **review** if you liked it!


	11. A Very Castafiore Christmas

**Author's Note: **Merry Christmas, everyone! :) All right, here's the last chapter of A Very Castafiore Christmas! So make yourself a cup of hot cocoa, wrap up in a warm blanket, and enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 11**

It was beautiful outside. The air was freezing cold, but Haddock barely noticed. He was glad for the stillness, the silence that seemed to envelop the world like a blanket, so welcome after the loud and garish party. The world was pleasantly dark, and a sliver of moon peeked out from behind the clouds.

"Where are we going, exactly?" wondered Haddock aloud, as he followed Tintin towards the side of the house.

"I don't know," said Tintin, a few paces ahead of the Captain. "I was thinking about the lookout."

Captain Haddock immediately knew what Tintin was talking about. Marlinspike's grounds were vast, and several points offered beautiful views of the village below. About a century ago, Sir Francis Haddock had constructed a stone lookout near the back garden, and it was a perfect place to relax and look out over the countryside.

"I think they'll have fireworks over the village tonight," Tintin added, his boots crunching over the frozen grass.

"I thought they did that for New Year's."

"They do it on Christmas, too."

"Oh." Captain Haddock laughed. "Thundering typhoons, that woman sure knows how to embarrass herself!"

"That she does."'

"I almost expected to have some more shattered glass to clean up like last time, with her thundering opera song!" continued Haddock, warming to his subject.

"That would have been terrible," agreed Tintin.

"And to think that it all started because I wanted a pair of scissors!"

Tintin stopped. "Really?"

"That's what I said. Hey, why did you stop walking?"

Tintin resumed his pace. "Well," he began with a laugh, "I, um… you said you were looking for the scissors?"

"Where are you going with this?" asked Haddock suspiciously.

"I… er… I was using them."

"No."

"I was."

"Well. That would have been helpful to know," the Captain said, annoyed. "You could have just told me."

"How could I have known you wanted them?" Tintin objected. "And anyway, it's as much your fault as mine: bursting through Castafiore's bathroom door certainly isn't an option I would have suggested."

"Irma was chasing me."

"We've been over this already, Captain."

"Fine, then we won't! But, blistering barnacles, I won't be sorry to see that woman go!"

"Okay. But don't be mean about it."

"I'm not being mean!" protested Haddock.

"You are. A bit."

"Well…"

"She'll be on her way tomorrow. You can put up with her for a bit longer, right?"

"I suppose," the Captain grumbled.

For a minute or two, they trudged on in silence. The stars had been blotted out by a fog of heavy, overcast clouds, and the sky was a deep black. The only sound was the wind caressing the bare trees and rolling through the dead grass.

"So, what did you get me for Christmas?" wondered the Captain aloud, eager to break the silence.

"What, did you think I was going to tell you?"

"Just wondering."

"Well, you'll find out tomorrow morning," said Tintin, and Haddock could hear the smile in his voice.

They were at the old stone lookout now. The glittering panorama of the town below them spread out like a mirror image of the stars, and from where they were standing, the lookout almost seemed as if it were floating. Captain Haddock leaned over, elbows resting on the stone wall, feeling the wind roll through his hair.

"It's beautiful," said Tintin reverently.

"That it is," replied the Captain, and then though of something and laughed. "You know, Tintin, you're terrible. Absolutely terrible."

"Tintin turned towards him. "What?"

"I was just thinking about that prank. You know, with the tape on my bathroom door. You know, that really ruined my day."

Tintin laughed. "Just keeping things alive around here," he said sweetly.

"Yes, well, that you certainly do."

Tintin took a deep breath, and then let out a long sigh. "Just taste the air, Captain," he said. "Better than any alcohol, don't you think?"

"The air tastes like ice," Haddock replied. "Which, by the way, is perfect in a tall glass of Loch Lomond."

"Of course."

The Captain chuckled. "Tintin, you really shouldn't bother."

"You're right, I shouldn't."

"I mean, just think about those pills that Calculus invented— hey! What's this?" Captain Haddock wondered out loud, as something small and wet landed on his nose. He gingerly placed a finger on the spot, then put it in his mouth and felt a tiny burst of icy cold.

"What's what?"

"I don't know, it kind of felt like rain or something."

Tintin rolled his eyes. "It must be raining Loch Lomond."

"No, I'm serious. I think it's raining."

"Captain, let's think for a moment here," said Tintin, condescendingly. "It's thirty degrees outside. It couldn't possibly be raining; snowing perhaps, but— wait a second!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Snowing! It could be snowing!"

"You're right!" cried Haddock, the enormity of Tintin's deduction hitting him like a tidal wave. "It could be snowing!"

The entire world had been transformed. What was, a few minutes ago, a bleak and bare winter landscape was now filled with millions of tiny snowflakes, swirling and drifting in little flurries towards the ground. Tintin and the Captain looked around, awestruck, the icy coldness gathering in their eyelashes and dampening their winter coats.

"It's snowing!" screamed Captain Haddock, throwing his arms into the sky, feeling the wonderful, beautiful snowflakes rain down on his face. He grabbed Tintin and began to twirl around in a circle.

"Captain, the ledge! The ledge!" Tintin was shrieking, horrified.

"What?"

"Put me down, now!"

Then Haddock comprehended what Tintin had just said, and put his friend down gingerly on the ground. "Are you all right?" he gasped. "I didn't mean to…"

"I could have died! Captain, we're a quarter of a mile above the ground, for goodness' sake!" Tintin exclaimed, but even as he said it, he couldn't keep the smile from his face. "Be a little more careful next time, okay?" he laughed.

"Sorry about that," the Captain apologized.

"I'll forgive you, just this once," Tintin conceded.

They stood on the stone overlook, the white snow drifting down around them, the lights of the town glittering below. A giant red starburst exploded in the sky with a popping sound, followed by a few smaller green ones, shimmering in the winter night.

"The fireworks," said Tintin, breathlessly.

"They go pretty well with the snow, don't they?" commented Haddock, gazing out over the night sky. "I'd say this Christmas is just about perfect."

"Just about," Tintin agreed, watching as a magnificent white firework exploded, scattering millions of tiny bursts of light into the sky.

"Well, except for Wagner's scales," Haddock confessed. "And the— er— scissor incident."

"And Castafiore's meltdown…"

"And our attempt at baking the Christmas breakfast, which was a complete fail."

Tintin laughed. "And don't forget the fertilizer."

"Of course." Haddock sighed and concentrated on a cluster of red fireworks. "Just about perfect. About as perfect as Christmas can be, where Bianca Castafiore is involved, anyway."

Tintin turned towards Captain Haddock and laughed. "It's been good."

Haddock looked down at his friend. "Merry Christmas, Tintin," he said.

Tintin smiled. "Merry Christmas, Captain."

/

Morning dawned the next day over a snowy, white world. The ground was covered in a blanket of deep white snow, and the sky was a dazzling bright blue. It turned out that Mother Nature had not only bestowed snow, but a veritable blizzard, covering Marlinspike in a one-foot layer of the stuff. Everything was swathed in snow: sculpted bushes lost their outlines and became raised white bumps, all of the mansion's pathways and drives were indistinguishable from the rest of the ground, and one entire side of Marlinspike had turned completely white.

Captain Haddock wasn't an early-morning person, but he'd been so excited that he couldn't stop himself from taking a walk in the garden. Tintin wasn't with him, and for once, he was glad: he would've enjoyed his friend's conversation, but right now, he wanted to drink in the wintry silence.

It was cold, but as Captain Haddock walked past a snow-covered fountain, he could feel something decidedly fresh and warm in the air— _our first taste of spring, perhaps? _he wondered.

It felt good to be outside and awake, instead of in bed. The winter sun shone on his face, and a few birds flew by, chirping and fluttering their wings. It was calm. It was peaceful.

And Christmas was finally over.

Castafiore's Christmas party had ended at two in the morning, and after about an hour of formal goodbyes and promises to return soon (_heaven forbid!_), her friends had finally left Marlinspike, leaving Nestor with a massive bill to run up and a massive mess to clean. Captain Haddock hadn't even bothered to stay for the end of the party; he'd gone to bed and hung the consequences on his bedroom door. He was gratified beyond words that the dreaded holiday was finally over, and that Castafiore was finally leaving.

He brushed several inches of snow from a stone bench and sat down, drinking in the cold winter silence and soaking up the sunshine.

_It's been a good Christmas, _he decided.

"Captain!" somebody shouted, and Haddock looked up to see Tintin waving at him from the garden patio. "Come inside, I have something to show you!"

With a grunt, Captain Haddock got up from his comfortable seat and began walking towards the house.

/

"Open it!" said Tintin excitedly, obviously restraining the urge to tear open the large wrapped box himself.

They were sitting in the parlor, amid the mostly-cleaned debris from Castafiore's party. Half-filled garbage bags littered the room, filled with napkins for to wash, plates to clean, and confetti to dispose of. The remnants of the flamingo ice sculpture lay in a sad puddle on a nearby tray. The curtains had been left drawn and the windows slightly opened to air out the room, and tiny dust motes floated lazily in the air.

Captain Haddock turned the box around several times, partially to see if he could figure out what was inside, and partially to annoy Tintin.

"Just open it!" Tintin urged.

Haddock's fingers found a corner of the wrapping paper and tore, exposing a plain wooden box.

"A box?"

Tintin rolled his eyes. "There's something inside of the box, Captain."

"Oh," said Haddock blandly, as if he'd never considered the possibility.

"Just open it," said Tintin again, leaning forward excitedly.

"All right." Captain Haddock pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket and pried open the lid of the box, then pulled out what was inside.

He stopped and stared.

In his hands, he held an exact replica of the HMS Pandora, exactly like the one he'd seen at the Christmas market. Everything about it was perfect.

"It's a beauty," Haddock breathed, awestruck. "But, Tintin… how did you find this? I thought that the only model…"

"…was at the Christmas market," finished Tintin, smiling. "Exactly. It's the very same one that you looked at while you were at the market. It's quite simple: I saw how much you liked it and bought it as soon as you left."

Captain Haddock looked at the beautiful trimmings, the golden linings, the perfectly carved wooden planks, and the ornate figurehead. "But— but this one cost a fortune!" he sputtered.

"Captain, don't worry about it," said Tintin. "I don't spend money on very much else. Don't worry about it."

"I can help you pay for it," Haddock offered.

"It's all right!" Tintin laughed. "Why don't you have Nestor put it in the gallery— Nestor!" he called.

Thirty seconds later, the butler appeared in the doorway, looking exhausted. "Yes?"

"Could you put this in the maritime gallery?" asked Tintin, pointing towards the model ship. "Thanks."

As Nestor took the ship and walked away, Tintin adjusted his position on the couch and looked at the Captain. "Now, what's my present?" he asked.

"All right, I'll get it," said Haddock, rising from the couch and running upstairs towards his bedroom. After locating the present, he brought it back down and handed it to Tintin. "Now, open it."

Tintin looked at the present critically. "You didn't wrap this very well," he remarked.

"Open it," said Haddock again, feeling like the Tintin of two minutes earlier.

Tintin neatly tore the paper and opened the box.

"Great snakes, Captain!" he exclaimed. "How in the world did you find this?"

He pulled out the painting of Marlinspike, and Haddock realized he'd forgotten just how beautiful it was. _It would look perfect in the breakfast room, _he thought.

"This is wonderful!" cried Tintin excitedly, eyes opening wide with wonder. "This is absolutely cracking!"

"I thought you would like it," chuckled Haddock.

As Tintin breathlessly examined the painting, the parlor doors burst open and in trotted Bianca Castafiore, wearing a cream-colored traveling outfit and pillbox hat. Wagner and Irma stood on either side of her, also wearing traveling clothes.

"Buongiorno, miei cari amici! Buongiorno, Tintin! Buongiorno, Captain Hammock!" she sang, as Tintin and Haddock turned around to face her. Normally, Captain Haddock would have tried to make an exit at this point, but since it was the last time he would see Castafiore, he felt obligated to be present at her departure.

"Good morning, Signora!" called Tintin cheerfully, and the Captain followed with a slightly less enthusiastic greeting.

"My dear friends Tintin and Captain Fatstock," she began, "I regret to say that I must leave you all!"

"You're leaving?" wondered Tintin. "Already?"

Haddock assumed that Tintin was only being polite, as he knew full well that La Castafiore was due to leave the morning after Christmas.

"I'm afraid it has to be this way," sniffed Bianca. "It grieves me to say so, but I must leave. My adoring fans call for me in Paris and Milan, and I simply must be there to give them the voice of the goddess they adore! But I should expect it… it's simply the price of fame! Ahahaha!"

"But that's terrible!" protested Haddock.

"That's too marvelous of you, Captain Padlock! But I simply must go!"

"Well, goodbye then," said the Captain, walking towards Castafiore. "Shall I show you to the door?"

"How too darling! Yes, I believe that our goodbyes are in order!" she sang, and everybody walked to the front door.

"It's been wonderful having you stay, Signora," said Tintin, kissing Castafiore's gloved hand. "Bon voyage!"

Castafiore propped open the front door, and Wagner and Irma left to get the car. "Goodbye, my dear friends!" she trilled, smoothing down the front of her furry coat. "Captain Stockpot, thank you so much for your charming hospitality! I had such a divine time at your country cottage! I'm sorry to have to leave you so suddenly, but I promise to return soon!"

"Yes, I'm sure you will!" replied Captain Haddock, producing a lemon-sucking smile.

Castafiore's black car appeared on the front drive, its tires drawing dark tracks in the fresh snow. Bianca patted herself, as if looking for something, and pulled a small envelope from her pocket. "Here's a little— Ahahaha!— thank-you for your hospitality. It's nothing, really: just a thank-you."

Tintin accepted the envelope and smiled. "Thank you, Signora," he said.

"Signora! Are you leaving already?" called a voice, and the three turned around to see the Professor running towards them.

"Ah! The Professor!" laughed Castafiore with an indulgent smile. "Yes, I'm afraid it's so; I must leave! But don't worry: I'll return soon to your country cottage!"

"Modest?" wondered Calculus, as he joined the group near the front door. "Well, I don't think I'm _that _modest!" he demurred, as Castafiore gave him a confused expression. "But it is a compliment to hear it from such a great artist!"

"Ahahaha!— you flatter me!" warbled Castafiore. "How too lovely! Alas, I'm afraid I must leave at once!" She gestured around her expansively, as if already hearing the cheering crowds. "They call for me at La Scala, at the Garnier! And now, I must take my leave of you all!"

"Goodbye, Signora!" Tintin called, as Castafiore trotted down Marlinspike's front steps. She turned and blew a dramatic kiss to them, then stepped into her car.

"See you soon!" the Professor chimed in.

Captain Haddock looked over at Tintin, who was pulling a glossy white piece of paper from Castafiore's envelope. "What have you got there?" he asked.

Tintin put a hand over his mouth and chuckled. "Oh, nothing in particular," he laughed, stuffing the photo back into the envelope. "The Milanese Nightingale just gave us an autographed picture of herself."

"Classic Castafiore. I'll bet in her mind, that's one of the greatest presents she can give."

Tintin smiled. "That's Castafiore for you."

"That it is," Haddock replied, then laughed. "By the way, do you… by any chance… know who sent that ice sculpture last night?"

Tintin looked at the Captain, eyes wide, an innocent smile on his face.

"No," he said. "I have absolutely no idea who sent the ice sculpture."

And Captain Haddock and Tintin looked out of Marlinspike's double doors into the glittering white world outside, and watched the dark outline of Castafiore's car disappear behind the trees.

**The End**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow. I'm done. I'm actually done with this book.

First off, I just want to say that A Very Castafiore Christmas wouldn't have been possible without all of your wonderful and encouraging reviews. You all are what make me want to keep writing. :) I hope that you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it- its an experience I'll never forget and it's been a lot of fun. :)

As always, it would be so great to get a review! This is your last chance, since I won't be posting any more chapters.

I'll definitely be working on more stuff in the future- for now, I'll mainly work on oneshots and stuff because I'm really burned out from the whole book thing. So, make sure to stay tuned for that!

Merry Christmas, everyone! :)


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